THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR. 

THE     AMBER    GODS, 

AND     OTHER    STORIES. 

1  vol.      16mo.      Cloth,  bevelled  boards  and  gilt  top. 
Price,  $1.50. 


TICKNOK   AND    FIELDS,    Publishers. 


A  Z  A  R  I  A  N 


AN    EPISODE. 


HARRIET    ELIZABETH    PRESCOTT, 

- 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  AMBER  GODS,"  ETC 


BOSTON : 

TICKNOR    AND     FIELDS, 
1864. 


'    Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

HARRIET   ELIZABETH  PRESCOTT, 
In  tho  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS: 
WELCH,    BIGELOW,    AND   COMPANY, 


7? 
A  ZAR IAN 


I. 

LIFE,  which  slips  us  along  like  beads  on  a 
leash,  strung  summer  after  summer  on  Ruth 
Yetton's  thread,  yet  none  so  bright  as  that 
one  where  the  Azarian  had  pictured  his  sun- 
ny face  and  all  his  infinite  variety  of  prank- 
some  ways.  Ruth's  mother  had  thrown  her 
up  in  despair,  as  good  for  nothing  under  the 
sun,  but  her  father  always  took  her  on  his 
knee  at  twilight,  listened  to  her  little  idealities, 
and  dreamed  the  hour  away  with  her.  Yet 
without  the  mother's  constructive  strength, 
all  Ruth's  inherited  visioning  would  have 
availed  her  ill. 

Perhaps  it  was  owing  to  this  scheming,  but 
reverizing  brain  of  his,  that  one  day  her  father 


485603 

ENGLISH 


6  AZARIAN. 

sold  his  farm  and  moved  with  wife  and  child  to 
the  city.  And  when,  after  a  while,  all  things 
went  the  reversed  way  with  him  there,  the 
schemes  suddenly  ran  riot  in  fever,  and  he  be- 
came an  old  man  in  his  prime.  The  mother, 
with  all  the  quiet  current  of  years  disturbed, 
died  then,  of  vexation  perhaps.  And  Ruth 
Yetton  was  left  more  than  alone,  with  a  dear 
burden  on  her  slender  shoulders,  and  with  no 
other  relative  whose  great  lodestone  of  race 
might  draw  her  little  magnet. 

When  the  first  bursts  of  grief  had  gathered 
themselves  darkly  inward,  to  suffuse  all  the 
days  to  come  with  silent  rushes  of  gloom  and 
^prrow,  Ruth  assumed  her  duties.  In  the  first 
place,  she  counted  their  money;  then,  select- 
ing sufficient  furniture  for  some  tiny  kitchen 
or  other,  should  she  ever  be  able  to  hire  two 
rooms,  and  a  few  articles  of  a  different  class, 
she  hastened  to  dispose  of  the  remainder, — 
quickly,  lest,  delaying,  she  would  never  have 


AZARIAN.  7 

the  heart  to  sell  them  at  all,  —  these  things 
round  which  such  memories  clung.  A  lofty 
chest  of  drawers  with  burnished  brasses,  the 
old  clock  whose  ponderous  stroke  had  marked 
off  all  those  dead  and  gone  days,  her  father's 
chair,  and  one  or  two  books  of  rare  prints, 
were  not  to  be  parted  with.  All  done,  the 
accumulation  in  her  purse  seemed  a  great  deal 
to  little  Ruth ;  yet  she  knew  it  could  not  last 
forever,  and  she  daily  sought  work.  Gradu- 
ally, as  she  paid-  the  weekly  board  or  bought 
some  little  pleasure  for  the  sad  and  sweet 
old  face  in  the  corner,  the  purse  began  to 
drop  an  ever  lighter  weight  in  her  pocket. 
One  day,  at  last,  she  took  the  two  books  and 
went  to  a  place  at  whose  windows  she  had 
often  stood  to  watch  the  storied  wealth. 

"No,"  said  the  perspn  she  addressed.  "You 
will  probably  receive  a  good  price  for  this  on 
Cornhill.  "We  do  not  deal  in  such  articles." 
But  as  he  idly  turned  it  over,  two  little  papers 


8  AZARIAN. 

slipped  from  between  the  leaves  and  fluttered 
to  the  floor.  He  gathered  them.  They  were 
the  old  amusements  of  Euth's  careless  leisure. 
One,  the  likeness  of  a  bunch  of  gentians  just 
plucked  from  the  swampy  mould,  blue  as 
heaven,  their  vapory  tissue  —  as  if  a  breath 
dissolved  it  —  so  tenderly  curled  and  fringed 
like  some  radiate  cloud,  fragile,  fresh,  a  crea- 
tion of  the  earth's  fairest  finest  effluence, 
dreams  of  innocence  and  morning  still  half 
veiled  in  their  ineffable  azure.  The  other, 
only  a  single  piece  of  the  wandering  dog-tooth, 
with  its  sudden  flamy  blossom  starting  up 
from  the  languid  stem  like  a  serpent's  head, 
full  of  fanged  expression,  and  with  its  mot- 
tled leaf,  so  dewy,  so  dark,  so  cool,  that  it 
seemed  to  hold  in  itself  the  reflection  of 
green-gloomed  transparent  streams  running 
over  pebbly  bottoms. 

The  interlocutor  examined  them  for  a  few 
moments  steadily.    "  Your  name,  may  I  ask  ?  " 


AZARIAN.  9 

"  Ruth  Yetton." 

"  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,  Miss  Yetton, 
to  offer  these  sketches  for  sale  ?  " 

"  Those ! " 

"  I  see  not." 

"  Are  they  —  worth  anything,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  decidedly.  What  price  will  you  put 
upon  them  ?  " 

"Is  —  a  dollar — half  a  dollar — too  much?" 

"I  will  mark  them  three.  They  might 
bring  five.  You  can  call  again  in  a  few  days, 
Miss  Yetton,  and  if  they  are  gone  we  will 
hand  you  the  proceeds,  deducting  a  small 
commission.  You  would  find  ready  sale,  I 
believe,  for  as  many  as  you  could  furnish." 

What  visions  danced  over  Miss  Yetton's 
pale  little  face  as  she  remembered  the  over- 
flowing desk  in  her  .trunk.  Hunger  and  want 
and  fear  annihilated.  Soup  and  sirloin  every 
day  for  the  uncomplaining  old  man  at  home, 
new  clothes  for  him,  fragrantest  tobacco, 
i* 


10  AZARIAN. 

trivial  luxuries,  now  and  then  a  ride  outside 
the  suburbs,  now  and  then  an  evening  at  the 
play,  comfort  and  rest  and  safety  and  pleasure 
all  the  days  and  nights  of  his  mortal  life. 
That  moment  paid  for  so  much.  Wealth  rose 
round  her  like  an  exhalation ;  another  possi- 
bility flashed  upon  her  and  faded,  —  she  was 
half-way  to  Italy,  tossing  on  the  blue  sea, 
hastening  to  pictures  and  shrines  and  eternal 
summer. 

The  lounger  over  Kosa  Bonheur's  portfolio 
turned  and  fastened  his  glance  upon  her ;  she 
seemed  to  feel  it,  though  she  was  not  looking, 
for  it  entered  her  as  a  sunbeam  parts  the 
petals  of  a  flower. 

The  shopman  smiled  at  her  roseate  counte- 
nance. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he.  "  I  see  that  we  have 
struck  a  vein !  "  and  she  tripped  away. 

So  three  months'  time  saw  many  things 
altered.  Little  gold-pieces  clinked,  and  pre- 


AZARIAN.  11 

cious  paper  rustled,  in  Miss  Yetton's  wallet, 
and  she  had  left  the  new  devotion  of  land- 
lady and  fellow-lodgers  running  to  waste,  hav- 
ing found  two  rooms,  in  an  airier  place,  that 
pleased  her  fancy.  They  were  part  of  a  house 
that  stood  on  the  corner  of  a  large,  empty 
square,  seldom  reached  by  the  hum  of  busi- 
ness ;  and  as  the  house  was  old,  and  had  none 
of  the  modern  alleviations  of  life,  they  were 
obtained  very  reasonably.  On  the  second 
floor,  with  one  large  window  for  the  sunshine 
and  one  for  the  square,  with  a  little  carpet 
pieced  out  by  the  cheap  Arab  mat  whose 
vivid  elm-leaf  hue  seemed  like  perpetual  fair 
weather  in  the  room,  with  the  great  chest  of 
drawers  reaching  in  ancestral  splendor  almost 
to  the  ceiling,  with  the  home  sound  of  the 
clock,  sentinel  in  the  recess,  the  little  work- 
table,  one  window  full  of  flowers  in  pots  and 
boxes  and  baskets,  a  portrait  of  some  sad- 
eyed  lady  which  she  had  found  exposed  -in  an 


12  AZARIAN. 

auction-room,  and  about  which  she  loved  to 
weave  pathetic  romances,  two  yellow  old  en- 
gravings from  Angelica  Kaufmann,  where  fig- 
ured Fancy  with  the  wings  springing  from  her 
filleted  temples ;  a  lounge  of  her  own  fashion- 
ing, piled  with  purple  cushions,  and  which 
became  a  very  comfortable  bed  at  night ;  with 
a  glowing  fire  in  the  grate,  and  a  little  cat 
purring  before  it,  —  Miss  Yetton  could  hardly 
devise  the  imagination  of  further  comfort. 
Their  dinners  they  found  in  any  restaurant, 
their  breakfasts  were  a  pleasure  to  contrive. 
They  took  long  trips  on  the  horse-cars,  which 
were  the  old  father's  delight ;  long  rides  then 
into  the  wintry  country,  got  out  at  any  pros- 
pect of  field  or  wood,  and  returned  laden  with 
trailers  of  gray  moss,  with  clusters  of  scarlet 
hips,  with  withered  ferns,  blue  juniper-ber- 
ries, dried  cones,  bunches  of  beautiful  brown- 
bearded  grasses,  which,  disposed  here  and 
there,  tasselled  over  the  dark  wood  of  the 


AZARIAN.  13 

picture-frames,  or,  set  in  tapering  glasses,  kept 
her  sitting-room  always  sweetly  ornamented, 
till  in  summer  she  could  make  it  a  very  bower 
with  all  manner  of  flaunting  herb  or  shrink- 
ing bud,  with  great  boughs  of  the  snowy 
medlar,  and  with  long  wreaths  of  the  spiced 
sweet-brier.  Whenever,  too,  Miss  Yetton  had 
a  cent  that  she  could  religiously  spare, — * 
for  besides  her  little  savings  she  had  her  little 
charities,  —  she  stole  with  it  between  the  lofty 
ranks  of  some  greenhouse  and  won  the  gar- 
dener's heart,  and  brought  back  threefold  its 
worth  to  lay  massed  in  gorgeous  bloom  about 
the  room;  while  her  ever  passive  companion 
sat,  lost  in  a  bewildered  enchantment,  among 
all  the  glowing  greenery,  the  springing  stems 
and  bending  buds  whose  life  leaped  up  so 
riotously  to  break  in  blossom,  —  sat  abandoned 
to  the  soft  damp  warmth  of  atmosphere  that 
was  like  some  other  planet's,  —  sat  there  in 
the  emeraldine  lustre  that,  filtering  through 


H  AZARIAN. 

the  vine-leaved  roof,  seemed  to  have  dripped 
a  shining  sediment  in  great  bunches  of  trans- 
lucent grapes, — thrilled  through  all  his  sense, 
and  growing  ever  rapt  and  paler,  till  the  child 
hurried  him  away  lest  his  soul  should  exhale 
entirely  in  the  strange  region  of  heavily- 
freighted  air,  and  be  lost  among  all  its  other 
•ecstatic  odors.  Sometimes  moreover,  of  an 
afternoon,  she  slipped  with  the  quiet  old  man 
into  an  orchestra-concert ;  and  afterwards  the 
dim  dreamwork  and  sweet  thoughts  that  had 
been  invoked  by  the  murmuring  music  shaped 
themselves  to  tint  and  color  and  design  as 
she  walked  round  the  Common  in  the  sunset, 
or  went  out  and  leaned  a  moment  over  the 
arches  of  the  bridges,  and  marked  how  the 
green  light  fell  like  damp  sunshine  among 
their  shadows.  Few  of  all  those  who  an  their 
rambles  were  wont  with  interest  t<5  encounter 
this  little  woman  supporting  the  spiritual,  frail 
form  beside  her,  associated  the  two  in  any 


AZARIAN.  15 

measure  with  the  beautiful  creations  of  pencil 
and  paper  that  at  that  very  moment  perhaps 
they  treasured  in  their  hand.  It  is  true  that 
often  in  the  after-dark  hours  she  ached  to 
have  her  father's  old  intelligence  back  among 
these  pleasures,  to  feel  once  more  the  old 
reliance  on  his  omnipotence,-  to  have  her  moth- 
er sharing  these  long-desired  comforts ;  but 
when  the  feverish  pain  was  by,  with  her  con- 
stant work,  with  her  pleasant  fancies,  with 
her  brightening  hopes  and  joyful  attainment, 
Miss  Y.etton  was  as  happy  a  little  maid  as  a 
city  roof  can  cover. 

Without  premeditation  or  affectation  or 
search,  Miss  Yetton  had  found  an  art.  An 
art  in  which  she  stood  almost  alone.  As  she 
began  to  give  herself  rules,  one  that  she  found 
absolute  was  to  work  from  nothing  but  the 
life.  During  the  winter,  and  while  yet  her 
means  were  very  small,  the  opposite  course 
had  been  needful ;  but  even  then  some  little 


16  AZARIAN. 

card  where  a  handful  of  brown  stems  and 
ruddy  berries  from  the  snowy  roadside  seemed 
to  have  been  thrown,  or  where  she  had  caught 
just  the  topmost  tips  of  the  bare  tree  in  the 
square,  lined  like  any  evanescent  sea-moss, 
delicate  as  the  threads  of  smoke  that  wander 
upward,  faintly  tinged  in  rosy  purple  and 
etched  upon  a  calm  deep  sky  with  most  ex- 
quisite and  intricate  entanglement  of  swinging 
spray  and  swelling  bud, — even  then  things  like 
these  commanded^  twice  the  price  of  any  copy 
of  her  past  sketches.  Something  of  this  was 
due  to  growth  perhaps.  Already  she  felt  that 
she  handled  her  pencil  with  a  swifter  decision, 
and  there  was  courage  in  her  color.  But 
when  spring  came  she  revelled.  She  took 
jaunts  deeper  and  deeper  among  the  outlying 
regions.  One  day,  luncheon  in  pocket,  she 
went  pulling  apart  old  fallen  twigs  and  bits 
of  stone  on  the  edge  of  a  chasm  where  dark 
and  slumbrous  *  waters  forever  mantled,  and 


AZARIAN.  17 

returning  the  forty  miles  in  the  afternoon  train 
brought  home  with  her  bountiful  bunches,  root 
and  blood-red  leaf,  downy  bud  and  flaky  flower 
of  the  purple  hepatica,  —  the  hepatica,  whose 
pristine  element,  floating  out  of  heaven  and 
sinking  into  the  sod  with  every  star-sown  fall 
of  snow,  answers  the  first  touch  of  wooing 
sunshine,  assoiled  of  dazzle,  enriched  with 
some  tincture  of  the  mould's  own  strain,  and 
borrowing  from  the  crumbling  granites  that 
companion  it  all  winter  an  atom  of  fibre,  a 
moment  of  permanence :  breezy  bits  of  gold 
and  purple  at  last,  cuddled  in  among  old 
gnarls  and  roots,  and  calling  the  wild  March 
sponsor.  These  before  her,  she  wrought  pa- 
tiently on  ivory  with  all  delicate  veinery  and 
tender  tint,  painting  in  a  glossy  jet  of  back- 
ground, till,  rivalling  the  Florentine,  the  dainty 
mosaic  was  ready  for  the  cunning  goldsmith 
who  should  shape  it  to  the  pin  that  gathers 
the  laces  deep  in  any  lady's  bosom.  Then, 


18  AZARIAN. 

when  the  brush  had  extracted  their  last  es- 
sence, some  messenger  of  the  year,  some  little 
stir  in  her  pulse,  warned  her  of  hurrying 
May-flowers,  and  she  sped  down  to  the  Plym- 
outh woods,  within  sound  of  their  rustling 
sea-shore,  to  pull  up  clustered  wet  trailing 
masses,  flushed  in  warmest  wealthiest  pink 
with  the  heartsomest  flower  that  blows.  And 
there,  in  the  milder  weather,  she  took  her 
only  familiar,  that  he  might  plunge  his  trem- 
bling hands  deep  down  among  the  flowers,  or, 
sitting  on  a  mossy  knoll,  listen  to  the  wild 
song  of  the  pines  above.  Sometimes  too  she 
stood  with  him  through  long  reveries  in  the 
wide  rhodora  marshes,  where  some  fleece  of 
burning  mist  seemed  to  be  fallen  and  caught 
and  tangled  in  countless  filaments  upon  the 
bare  twigs  and  sprays  that  lovingly  detained 
it.  At  other  times  she  lingered  over  the 
blushing  wild-honeysuckle,  and  every  tube 
of  fragrance  poured  strength  and  light  into 


AZARIAN.  19 

her  spirit.  Always  in  gathering  her  trophies 
from  among  their  natural  surroundings  she 
felt  half  her  picture  painted.  Near  the  city 
there  were  fair  gardens  which  she  knew,  and 
which  in  return  for  her  homage  gave  her  the 
sweet-pea,  fluttering,  balancing,  tiptoe-fine, 
and  pansies  for  remembrance;  while  in  the 
farmers'  orchards  great  broken  boughs  were 
put  at  the  service  of  the  young  girl  with  the 
happy  old  man  upon  her  arm.  Then  came  a 
book  of  tree-blossoms,  —  those  glad  things  that 
are  in  such  haste  to  crowd  into  light  and  air 
before  the  leaves  can  get  chance  to  burst  their 
shining  scales,  —  where  the  faint  green  vapor 
of  the  elm,  the  callow  cloud  that  floats 
about  the  oak,  the  red  flame  of  the  maple, 
the  golden,  dusty  tassels  of  the  willow, — 
brimmed  with  being,  whose  very  perfume 
seemed  shaken  about  themselves  on  the  paper, 
—  hedged  in  with  their  wildness  those  caught 
and  captived  beauties  but  half  tamed  with 


20  AZARIAN. 

all  the  years,  the  fair  fruit-flowers,  ever  a 
sweeter  surprise  that  their  frail  petals  wreathe 
such  rugged  boughs,  —  the  pear  rivalling  the 
cornel,  the  cherry  like  a  suspended  snowstorm 
that  has  caught  life  among  the  branches,  the 
apple  veined  finely  as  the  blush  on  any  cheek, 
with  its  twisted  stem  where  the  aged  lichens 
have  laid  their  shield,  the  peach,  like  some 
splendid  orchid,  in  its  fantastic  shape,  with 
lifted  wings,  yet  clinging  to  the  bough,  and 
full  of  a  deep  rich  rosiness  that  already  holds 
the  luscious  juices  and  voluptuous  savor  of 
the  perfected  growth,  not  without  a  hint  of 
the  subtly  sweet  poison  in  its  heart.  Then 
Miss  Yetton  busied  herself  over  a  set  of  book- 
marks with  a  wild-flower  for  every  day  of  the 
year,  half  of  April  fille'd  with  violets,  white 
and  blue,  the  Alpine  pedate,  and  the  bright 
roadside  freak  of  the  golden-yellow,  while  for 
love  she  slipped  among  them  that  other,  an 
atom  of  summer  midnight,  double,  says  some 


AZARIAN.  21 

one,  as  a  little  rose,  the  only  blue  rose  we 
shall  ever  have;  and  for  the  days  whereon 
no  blossom  burst,  she  had  a  tip  of  tiny  hem- 
lock cones,  the  moss  from  an  old  stone,  a 
bunch  of  berries  forsaken  by  the  birds,  some 
silky  seedling  unstripped  of  the  rude  breezes. 
In  all  these  treasures  there  was  no  flaw;  the 
harebell  shaking  in  the  wind  and  tangled 
among  its  grasses,  the  wild  rose  whose  root 
so  few  rains  had  washed  that  there  had  settled 
a  deep  color  in  its  cup,  the  cardinal  with  the 
very  glitter  of  the  stream  it  loves  meshed 
like  a  silver  mist  behind  its  scarlet  sheen, 
those  slipshod  little  anemones  that  cannot  stop 
to  count  their  petals,  but  take  one  from  their 
neighbor  or  leave  another  behind  them,  all 
the  tiny  stellate  things  wherein  the  constant 
crystallic  force  of  the  ancient  earth  steals 
into  light,  the  radiant  water-lily,  —  these  held 
no  dead  pressed  beauty,  but  the  very  spirit 
and  springing  life  of  the  flower.  Upon  them, 


22  AZARIAN. 

too,  she  lavished  fancy;  among  the  sprays 
little  hands  appeared  to  help  the  climbing 
vine,  here  a  humming-bird  and  a  scarlet  rock- 
columbine  seemed  taking  flight  together,  there 
a  wasp  with  the  purple  enamel  of  armor  on 
his  wing  tilted  against  some  burly  husband- 
inan  of  a  bee  to  seek  the  good  graces  of  the 
hooded  nymph  in  an  arethusa ;  —  they  were 
little  gems,  and  brought  the  price  of  gems. 
At  length,  when — summer  ended,  and  her 
tramps  among  pastures  on  fire  with  their  burn- 
ing huckleberry-bushes  just  begun  —  there 
came  an  order  from  across  the  seas  for  a  book 
of  autumn  leaves,  accompanied  by  a  check 
for  two  hundred  dollars,  Miss  Yetton  thought 
her  fortune  made. 

She  was  sitting  at  work  on  this  order,  one 
afternoon  while  her  father  slept,  and  with  a 
new  friend  beside  her.  This  friend  had  not 
long  since  made  her  acquaintance,  and  there 
had  sprung  up  between  them  one  of  those 


AZARIAN.  23 

sudden  intimacies  which  may  happen  to  peo- 
ple who  have  long  desired  and  needed  them, 
and  who  are  complementary  each  to  the  other. 

"  I  am  a  poor  little  actress,"  said  Charmian ; 
"  poor,  I  suppose,  as  you  can  be.  I  do  not 
have  a  great  deal  of  money,  but  I  do  not 
spend  all  I  have.  I  lay  up  a  trifle  for  the 
rainy  days,  and  I  have  squandered  some  on 
certain  water-colors.  I  do  not  mean  to  squan- 
der any  more,  because  now  I  shall  have  you, 
water-colors  and  all,  and  if  ever  you  find 
yourself  quite  alone  in  the  breathing  world 
you  are  to  come  and  paint  in  my  sitting-room, 
or  else  I  shall  move,  bag  and  baggage,  and 
con  my  parts  in  yours." 

So  it  was  arranged.  Charmian  was  exactly 
what  she  said,  a  poor  little  actress,  yet  a 
very  good  one ;  no  star,  but  one  who  played 
either  Juliet  or  Lady  Macbeth  on  occasion, 
by  the  best  light  that  was  in  her;  at  some 
day,  perhaps,  a  sudden  inflorescence  of  charac- 


24  AZARIAN. 

ter  might  take  place,  and  she  would  dazzle 
the  world  of  footlights  pale.  Sho  felt  the  pos- 
sibility ever  stirring  within  her,  —  it  made  her 
restive  and  bold ;  but  to-day  she  was  a  poor 
little  actress  with  a  steady  engagement. 

Miss  Yetton  sat  working  in  the  black,  lus- 
trous berries,  among  the  carbuncle  splendors 
of  the  tupelo  branch.  Charmian  was  furbish- 
ing Kate  Percy's  bodice  that  it  might  do  no 
dishonor  to  Ophelia's  petticoat,  and  as  they 
wrought,  their  tongues  ran  merrily.  At  length 
Charmian  folded  her  work  and  rose,  and, 
going,  uttered  the  sentence  that  sealed  little 
Ruth  Yetton's  fate. 

"  I  'm  not  in  the  afterpiece  to-night,"  said 
she,  "so  I  shall  be  out  at  nine,  and  I'm 
going  to  bring  Constant  Azarian  to  see  you." 

"  Constant  Azarian  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  says  he  used  to  know  you,  and 
now  your  things  are  quite  the  rage,  you  see, 
he  'd  like  to  know  you  again.  Patronage  is 


A  Z  ART  AN.  25 

his  cue.  He  made  much  of  me  at  my  d^but, 
thinking  I  would  shortly  extinguish  Rachel. 
Rachel  yet  burns,  —  and  like  a  chiselled 
flame !  I  hardly  met  his  expectations,  but 
we  've  always  been  on  good  terms." 

"  Constant  Azarian  !  " 

"Oh,  so  you  remember  him?  That's  bad, 
or  good,  —  tell  me  which !  Really  I  don't 
know  whether  to  bring  him  here  or  not.  He 
is  such  an  impostor,  so  perfectly  charming 
outside  —  and  inside,  —  but  there  is  no  in- 
side ;  he  is  as  shining  and  as  hollow  as  a  glass 
bubble." 

"Oh,  — no." 

"  I  must  n't  bring  him." 

"  Yes,  do.  I  thought  he  could  not  be  here 
or  he  would  have  found  us  out.  I  used  to 
be  fond  of  him  one  summer  when  we  were 
children.  I  should  like  to  see  him." 

"  What  if  he  should  ever  lay  hands  on  our 
friendship,  Ruth?" 


26  AZARIAN. 

"  He  ?  "  said  Ruth  looking  up  with  wonder- 
ing eyes,  "  why,  it  is  no  affair  of  his." 

"Aha!  well — I  don't  know.  However,  ex- 
pect us  at  nine,  and  I  should  so  like  a  cup 
of  hot  tea  at  that  innocent  hour.  Stop,  I 
must  talk  to  you  a  bit.  All  the  girls  in  town, 
I  hear,  rave  over  Azarian,  though  he 's  no 
match,  for  his  father  died  not  long  ago  and 
left  him  poor.  It  was  a  great  flash-in-the-pan. 
Azarian  had  been  lapped  in  luxury,  and  ex- 
pected an  inheritance.  However,  he  behaved 
very  well.  He  has  some  talent,  he'd  have 
gone  on  the  stage,  his  name  alone  would  draw 
good  houses  for  a  fortnight  and  have  given 
him  a  pretty  pocket-piece,  but  of  course  he 
couldn't  rival  Booth,  and  anything  less  is 
plebeian ;  he  has  written  a  farce  or  two,  and 
there  are  dark  hints  of  a  tragedy.  Then  he 
has  sculptured  a  little  ;  he  had  patience  to  get 
through  the  clay,  and  money  to  get  through 
the  plaster,  but  not  genius  enough  to  get 


AZARIAN.  27 

through  the  marble ;  there  's  his  great  head 
still  half  in  the  block.  Then  he  has  painted 
a  little,  —  portraits ;  but  they  are  horrible ;  a 
brush  like  a  scalpel,  it  lays  people  bare  to  the 
core ;  to  look  at  one  of  his  canvases  is  like 
standing  in  a  dissecting-chamber,  where  the 
knife  has  gored  a  gash  down  some  face  and 
laid  open  all  the  nerves  and  muscles  ;  every 
one's  hidden  sin  suddenly  flares  up  and  'glares 
at  him.  Nobody  likes  to  be  excoriated  in  that 
style ;  so  Azarian's  portraits  don't  pay.  Mean- 
time, he  was  all  along  a  student  of  medicine, 
and  is  now  established  in  a  city  practice.  So. 
There  you  have  him.  Sooner  lose  your  heart 
to  Fra  Diavolo.  Be  warned.  Be  armed. 
Good  by." 

Little  Miss  Yetton  laughed  to  herself  as 
Charmian  closed  the  door  behind  her;  she 
remembered  the  boy  so  well,  or  her  ideal  of 
the  boy,  who  had  come  in  his  black  clothes 
to  spend  a  summer  on  the  farm  and  to  lose 


28  AZARIAN. 

his  cough.  She  staid  so  long  with  suspended 
pencil,  dreaming  over  that  season,  that  the 
dark  had  fallen  and  the  branch  before  her 
begun  to  fade  ere  she  bethought  herself  of 
work.  But  her  father,  busying  himself  at  the 
grate,  startled  her  with  a  clatter  of  coal-scuttle 
and  tongs,  and  she  rose  and  swept  her  pretty 
litter  aside. 

As  the  great  clock  struck  nine  in  the  dis- 
tance that  evening,  the  long  procession  of  its 
sounds  issuing  on  the  air  with  a  measured 
tread,  Miss  Yetton  piled  the  coke  on  her  coals 
for  a  dancing  cheer  of  the  blaze  of  molten 
sapphire  and  opal,  her  little  tea-table  glittered 
in  a  corner,  and  as  she  glanced  now  and  then 
toward  the  door  there  was  an  unwonted  spar- 
kle in  her  eye  and  a  restless  red  on  the  pale 
cheek. 

They  came  in  laughing.  Miss  Yettou  did  not 
see  Charmian,  for  the  other  stepped  directly 
toward  her,  and,  bowing,  uttered  his  name. 


AZARIAN.  29 

"  Constantine  Azarian." 

Her  hand  just  brushed  across  his  palm. 
He  tossed  his  head  with  a  motion  that  threw 
back  the  golden  curls.  "You  don't  meet 
me  now  as  then,"  he  said. 

"  Come,"  said  Charmian,  who  had  doffed 
her  things ;  "  none  of  your  old  times !  To 
business.  To  my  cup  of  tea,  and  then  to 
your  health." 

"It  is  Constantine,  father,"  said  Miss  Yet- 
ton  to  the  old  gentleman,  who  did  not  at 
all  comprehend  the  unusual  proceedings,  and 
forced  to  a  familiarity  which  she  would  not 
have  chosen  ;  "  you  remember  Constant  ?  " 

"Yes,  —  yes,"  replied  her  father  uneasily. 
"  Why,  you're  quite  a  man,  sir !  " 

The  guest  laughed,  exchanged  with  him  a 
sentence  or  two,  then  slipped  over  to  the  others. 

"  So,  Ruth,  I  have  found  you  at  last.  Where 
have  you  been  hiding  ?  "  he  demanded,  seating 
himself,  and  perfectly  at  home  in  the  minute. 


30  AZARIAN. 

"We  have  been  here  a  long  while.  Up 
and  down.  A  year  in  this  house,"  she  an- 
swered quietly. 

Her  tone  nettled  him,  he  raised  his  eye- 
brows. "  Come,  you  want  your  tea,"  he  said, 
fixing  his  glance  coolly  on  Charmian. 

"Yes,  I  want  my  tea,  it  prevents  reaction 
after  action.  But  that  needn't  hinder  your 
conversation.  Did  you  say  your  search  for 
Ruth  was  severe  ?  ".  she  asked  in  mischievous 
demi-voice. 

"  No.     Why  should  it  have  been  ?  " 

"Why,  indeed?"  said  she,  provoked  with 
herself,  while  the  red  burned .  into  Ruth's 
cheek. 

"  Ruth  and  I  are  such  dear  old  friends  that 
she  should  have  written  to  me  long  ago.  Why 
did  n't  you,  Ruth  ?  " 

Blushing  and  smiling,  appeased  and  pleased, 
Ruth  passed  him  his  cup  without  reply.  It 
was  a  quaint  little  cup,  a  bit  of  translucent 


AZARIAN.  31 

gorgeousness  that  she  had  reproduced  from 
the  depths  of  her  trunk  and  nicely  washed 
that  very  evening. 

Charmian  arrested  her  arm.  "  Allow  me 
to  ask,  Ruth  Yetton,"  said  she,  "  where  you 
came  across  that  hideous  little  splendor, — 
old  china  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  Perhaps 
you  painted  it  yourself.  You  haven't  been 
expending  your  treasure  to  delectate  Aza- 
rian's  lips  in  that  style  ? " 

"Pardon,  bella  douna,"  said  Azarian,  secur- 
ing the  disputed  object,  "it  is  mine  of  old,  the 
viaduct  of  youthful  draughts.  I  drank  from 
it  every  day  of  one  summer.  And  you  have 
kept  it  all  this  time,  Ruth  ?  " 

Ruth's  little  heart  leaped  that  he  should 
have  remembered  it,  she  could  not  have  an- 
swered why ;  she  carried  her  father  his  tray 
and  came  back  with  rosy  cheek  and  dewy 
eyes. 

"Your  tea  is  mercy  itself,  Ruth.  It  puts 
the  spirit  into  one." 


32  AZARIAN. 

"A  work  of  supererogation,  madonna." 

"  It  is  very  nice  tea,  it  was  given  to  me, — 
because  one  cannot  buy  it ;  you  would  hardly 
suppose  that  it  was  made  from  flowers,"  said 
Euth. 

"  It  looks  as  though  it  were  strained  through 
sunshine,"  replied  Azarian. 

"  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained," 
interpolated  Charmian. 

"  Shop !  "  said  Azarian. 

"  0  yes,  —  shop,  I  dare  say.  What  of  that  ? 
Now,  Azarian,  tell  the  truth  and  shame  the 

;  confess  that  you  think  it  would  be 

splendid  to  be  famous,  while  Ruth  there 
thinks  it  horrible  to  be  infamous:  but  as 
for  me  " 

"  Give  you  liberty  or  give  you  death." 

"  As  for  me,  —  it's  very  nice  to  be  just  un- 
famous ;  and  I  hope  the  time  will  never  come 
when  I  shall  be  too  great  and  dignified,  and 
too  full  of  sacred  genius,  to  make  little  jokes 


AZARIAN.  33 

about  the   play,  or  to   pass  the   butter  in  a 
tragic  way.     So  much  for  shop !  " 

"  No  danger,"  said  Azarian,  with  mourn- 
fully exaggerated  eyebrows.  "  You  are  my 
great  disappointment." 

"  Go  along  with  you  !  What  a  plague  you 
are !  Here  's  to  your  confusion.  Ach,  ach !  "• 
ejaculated  Charmian,  drinking  fast,  as  if  she 
would  rinse  her  mouth,  "  how  sick  I  am  of 
Portia  with  her  ridiculously  unjust  justice, 
the  impostress !  Ach !  " 

"I  don't  think  you'll  be  cast  for  Juliet 
again  immediately.  You  made  that  botch  of 
it  purposely,  last  evening  ?  " 

"  And  to-morrow  night  I  'm  tamed  for  the 
shrew." 

"  I  know  no  better  subject." 

"  It 's  another  abominable  piece  of  business ! 
Just  a  burlesque  of  the  truth,  though,  —  the 
very  truth.  It's  the  way  of  the  world,  the. 
way  of  a  man  with  a  maid.  What  are  we 


84  AZARIAN. 

better  than  any  other  clay,  —  only  to  tread 
on,  —  trample  away  then!  " 

"  All  in  character.  It  is  the  role  of  Miss 
Ann  Thrope.  This  tea,  that  is  made  of 
flowers,  inverses  Cowper,  —  inebriates,  but  not 
cheers,  I  fancy." 

"Azarian,  unless  you  conduct  with  more 
propriety,  you  shall  go  home  directly,  and 
I  will  never  bring  you  again ! " 

"I  can  come  next  time  alone,"  he  said, 
getting  up  to  saunter  about  the  room  and 
examine  the  pictures ;  till,  possessing  himself 
finally  of  Ruth's  portfolios,  and  taking  a  seat 
by  her  father,  he  went  over  them  all,  listening 
to  the  story  of  each  sheet  from  the  old  lips 
delighted  to  part  in  recital. 

"He  will  have  more  deference  to  Charmi- 
an's  opinions  when  she  returns  from  her  south- 
ern tour;  for I  am  going  away,  Ruth." 

"  You  are  going  away  ?  " 

"  Yes :   the   contract,   as   tragical   factotum 


AZARIAN.  35 

and  general  maid  of  all  work,  was  signed, 
sealed,  and  delivered  to-day,  since  I  left  you." 

"  0,  Charmian,  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

"  Do  without  me.  If  you  won't  come  with 
me.  What  say,  Ruth?  I  should  so  like  to 
make  you  and  Mr.  Yetton  my  guests  on  the 
journey ! " 

"0,  it  is  impossible!" 

"  I  don't  see  why." 

"But  it  is  so,  all  the  same." 

"  Euth,  dear,  reconsider  it.  You  renounce 
pride,  or  I  content  ?  I  shall  never,  never 
desire  more  happiness  than  to  do  finely  in 
my  art  and  have  you  with  me  wherever  I  go." 

"Nor  I;  but  it  can't  be  now,  you  know. 
Will  this  last  long?" 

"  No,  only  a  month  or  two.  It  is  literally 
a  golden  opportunity.  But  in  those  regal 
Southern  cities  they  love  the  drama!  Dear 
rabble !  How  can  any  latent  genius  develop 
in  such  a  searching  wind  of  criticism  as  — 


36  AZARIAN. 

as  he  breathes,  for  instance  ?  There,  in  the 
warm  welcoming  weather,  the  coaxing  encour- 
aging air,  the  generous  permeating  sunshine, 
the  fiery  favor  and  love,  one's  very  soul  blos- 
soms. I  feel  it  in  me,  Ruth,  —  those  tropical 
nights,  those  passionate  plaudits,  will  make  a 
great  actress  of  me." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  will.  I  can  spare 
you  for  that." 

"  It  would  please  you,  Ruth  ?  " 

"More  than  you." 

"I  don't  know.  I'm  not  so  unselfish, — 
fame  is  the  flower  and  fruit  of  that  divine 
inner  impulsion  at  whose  first  stir  one  de- 
sires it.  Yet  I  like,  too,  to  do  honor  to  our 
friendship,  Ruth." 

"  Ruth,"  interrupted  Azarian,  pausing  here 
over  one  of  her  arabesques,  "  where  did  you 
get  these  little  winged  faces?" 

"  0,  detached  studies  of  Reynolds's  cherubs, 
you  remember,  —  except  —  one  or  two." 


AZARIAN.  37 

"And  those?" 

"My  little  cat  sat  for." 

"  Naughty  girl !  You  have  never  seen  any 
Angelicos  ?  " 

"No." 

"  I  will  take  you  to-morrow  to  some  glo- 
rious things,  —  copies,  yet  delights." 

"  You  need  n't  be  taken  unless  you  wish," 
whispered  Charmian. 

"Ah,  but  I  do!  Nothing  could  give  me 
such  pleasure.  I  have  even  dreamed  about 
them.  And  once  —  when  I  was  in  great 
perplexity,  you  know  —  I  dreamed  I  was  la- 
boring through  an  interminable  field  of  stub- 
ble, and  two  Angels  came,  with  great  rosy 
half-mooned  wings,  and  lifted  me  by  the  shoul- 
ders and  bore  me  swiftly  over  it  all.  And 
they  must  have  looked  precisely  like  Fra 
Angelicos,"  said  Ruth,  her  face  all  lighted. 

"  You  can  certify  them  to-morrow,"  he  re- 
plied, gazing  at  her  admiringly. 


38  AZARIAN. 

"  Azarian  !     Won't  you  take  me  too  ?  " 

"  Well,  —  you  can  come,"  he  answered, 
laughing.  "  Shall  you  be  free  at  eleven, 
Ruth  ? " 

"No,  she  won't.  That  is  during  my  re- 
hearsal-hour." 

"  Charmian  will  be  through  by  twelve, 
though,"  said  Ruth  timidly. 

"Very  well,  I  will  call  for  you  then." 
Which  accordingly  he  did. 

Charmian  went  too,  as  she  had  threatened, 
not  for  her  own  enjoyment  primarily,  but  she 
had  some  dim  idea  of  playing  dragon.  More- 
over, she  was  accustomed,  by  a  sort  of  satire, 
to  keep  Ruth's  enthusiasms  an  atom  in  check. 

"  They  look  like  so  many  wooden  dolls," 
said  she,  when  Ruth  stood  rapt.  "  See  their 
round  polls,  —  the  beady  eyes  of  them  !  — 
their  pink  cheeks ;  — just  a  huddle  of  dolls." 

"Is  that  St.  John  up  there?  the  beautiful 
angel  in  the  red  gown,  with  that  bright  warm 


AZARIAN.  39 

hair  curling  over  his  shoulders,  and  his  head 
bent  so  lovingly  down  on  the  little  violin  ? 
I  can  hear  the  music !  And  see  that  St. 
Cecilia,  —  a  blaze  of  blue  in  the  midst  of  a 
blaze  of  gold.  It  is  the  very  ecstasy  of  wor- 
ship." 

As  Ruth  spoke,  low-voiced,  Azarian,  direct- 
ly before  her,  was  looking  in  her  face;  sud- 
denly her  eye  caught  his  and  fell ;  it  was  a 
moment  of  double  consciousness.  Azarian 
felt  as  if  he  had  spoken  his  thoughts.  He 
had  only  wondered  why  he  had  not  known 
it  was  she  when  he  saw  her  that  first  day 
in  the  print-shop  as  he  lounged  over  Rosa 
Bonheur's  lithographs,  why  he  had  not  spok- 
en to  her  then,  why  he  had  not  thought 
her  pretty  then :  she  had  a  certain  odd  and 
dainty  beauty  of  her  own,  those  delicate  fea- 
tures, dark  eyes,  and  the  one  great  wave  in 
her  less  dark  hair ;  she  was  quite  petite  and 
perfect ;  when  there  was  any  red  in  her  cheek 


40  AZARIAN. 

it  was  not  the  blush  of  the  rose,  but  the 
purple  pink  of  the  rhodora.  And  with  her 
talent,  too.  He  had  met  no  one  like  her. 
What  gave  her  glance  that  flashing  fall  just 
then  ?  Was  she  going  to  care  for  him,  too  ? 
That  mustn't  be.  Azarian,  somewhat  silent 
and  distraught,  went  home  that  day  in  an 
uneasy  frame. 

As  for  little  Ruth,  she  feared  she  had  of- 
fended him.  She  conjectured  concerning  it 
too  much  for  her  comfort,  and  her  heart  gave 
a  bound  the  next  day  when  he  tapped  and 
immediately  entered,  —  for  Azarian's  impetu- 
osity, when  he  allowed  it  any  play,  enforced 
an  entire  want  of  ceremony,  and  just  for  the 
nonce  he  was  so  innocent  of  self-scrutiny  as 
to  forget  consideration  of  why  it  was  that  he 
came  at  all,  —  for  sometimes  destin^  takes 
even  our  predetermination  out  of  our  hand 
and  weaves  another  figure,  —  the  fact  being 
only  that  he  had  felt  as  if  he  should  like  to 
see  her. 


AZARIAN.  41 

"  Good  morning,  little  Elderberry,"  said  he. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  she,  rising  and  tak- 
ing his  hand.  "Come  and  sit  down  here 
and  see  if  my  work  is  good.  Father  will  be 
in  directly ;  he  is  only  walking  round  the 
square."  And  she  resumed  her  occupation. 
"Why  do  you  call  me  an  elderberry?"  she 
said  at  last,  as  he  watched  her. 

"  Why  ?  only  that  you  remind  me  of  one  ; 
of  a  whole  panicle  of  them  rather.  They 
are  so  tiny,  so  shining,  so  polished  and  perfect. 
The  tint  is  so  unique,  —  your  dress  suggests 
it  to-day,  black,  and  deep  rich  amaranth,  — 
there  is  a  spark  of  something  like  it  in  your 
eyes,  and  you  have  the  stain  of  such  juice 
just  now  on  your  cheek ;  then  your  lips 
are  perhaps  darker  than  other  lips,  like  a 
black-heart  cherry,  which  has  the  bitter-sweet 
elderberry  flavor,  too,  —  if  one  tastes  it,  —  and 
those  little  pearls  when  you  laugh,  as  at  this 
moment,  give  them  yet  a  wealthier  hue.  Yes, 


42  AZARIAN. 

you  are  one  of  the  last  drops  of  the  earth's 
color  and  pungency  distilled  back  again  to 
the  sunshine,  and  I  've  no  doubt  that  at  some 
time  a  bitter-sweet  wine,  hardly  to  be  told 
from  old  red  ripened  port,  will  be  expressed 
frofn  your  nature,  strong  enough  to  turn  a 
man's  head." 

"  0  that  will  do,"  said  Miss  Yetton,  laugh- 
ing, and  too  utterly  unaccustomed  to  the  so- 
ciety of  gentlemen  to  know  whether  to  repulse 
this  familiarity  or  not. 

"  Don't  be  offended.  Remember  that  I  am 
a  portrait-painter," 

"  Certainly.  So  I  see  a  thousand  reasons 
why  this  picture  is  my  likeness,  though  you 
did  n't  paint  it,"  and  she  brought  up  from 
among  her  scraps  a  drawing  of  the  plant  in 
question. 

"There  are  a  thousand  more  reasons  why 
this  is,"  said  Azarian,  unwrapping  a  parcel 
in  his  hand,  —  and  he  laid  before  her  one  of 


AZARIAN.  43 

those  exquisite  little  tablets  where  on  a  cloud 
an  Angel  strays  singing  from  the  Divine  pres- 
ence. 

"I  have  had  it  a  long  while.  It  is  like 
those  you  saw  yesterday,  a  copy  from  Fra 
Angelico.  See  that  robe,  how  it  just  seems 
to  be  curdled  together  out  of  the  soft  purple 
air.  What  a  song  the  beautiful  face  is.  It 
is  yours." 

"  Mine !  "  Ruth  hesitated,  not  because  she 
dreamed  of  any  impropriety  in  accepting  it,  — 
she  had  retaken  her  old  childish  feeling  about 
him,  —  but  it  seemed  to  her  too  valuable. 
"  No,  no,"  said  she,  "  it  is  not  mine,  but  if 
you  had  really  as  lief,  I  would  like  to  hang 
it  on  the  wall  and  have  it  a  little  while  to 
look  at." 

"  Forever.  I  shall  never  reclaim  it.  But 
I  should  prefer  you  to  accept  it  from  me, 
Ruth,  and  to  thank  me." 

"I  do  thank  you." 


44  AZARIAN. 

"  Truly  ? "  with  his  head  resting  on  his 
hand  and  his  arm  along  the  table  for  a  while. 
"How  came  you  to  know  —  Charmian?" 

"  0,  she  ran  up  behind  me,  one  day,  on  the 
Common,  and  she  has  been  very  kind  to  me 
ever  since.  She  is  the  only  friend  I  have,  — 
except  yourself.  I  like  her  very  much, — 
don't  you?" 

"So,  so.  She  is  —  I  beg  your  pardon  — 
just  a  mite  vulgar." 

Poor  little  Ruth !  she  had  seen  so  few  peo- 
ple that  she  did  not  know  how  that  terrible 
word  applied  itself.  Her  friend's  peculiari- 
ties she  had  taken  to  be  points  of  character, 
and  had  never  suffered  them  to  offend  her. 

"  Moreover,  she  is  a  charmer,"  quoted  Aza- 
rian,  half  to  himself,  "  and  can  almost  read 
the  thoughts  of  people." 

"I  like  her,  — I  love  her!"  was  all  Ruth 
ventured  to  say. 

"The  more  's  the  pity,"  replied  the  other, — 


A  Z  ART  AN.  45 

for  there  lingered,  with  all  his  froth  of  friend- 
liness, a  certain  rancor  in  his  soul  because 
this  same  Charmian  had  at  an  earlier  date 
seen  fit  to  afford  him  very  decided  discour- 
agement, and  as  a  soothing  lotion  to  his  self- 
regard  he  had  been  obliged  to  conjure  about 
her  this  phantasm  of  vulgarity,  —  a  woman 
of  refinement  could  not  have  resisted  his 
power.  In  very  truth,  the  two  were  antipa- 
thetical, though  he  had  failed  to  perceive  it 
at  first ;  but  her  coldness  had  affected  merely 
his  fancy,  and  to-day  Azarian's  dislike  was 
as  sincere  an  emotion  as  he  was  capable  of 
feeling. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  shaking  off  his  cloud, 
"have  you  ever  seen  her  play?  I  should 
think  that  might  cure  you.  Once  or  twice  ? 
We  '11  make  it  thrice,  and  go  to-night  then." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  I  should  have 
gone  oftener,  but  you  know  I  do  not  like  to 
leave  my  father." 


46  AZARIAN. 

"Ah,  little  beggar,"  said  Azarian  gayly, 
catching  her  hands  and  laughing,  "  we  '11  take 
the  father  too !  " 

The  rose  burned  in  Ruth's  cheek,  and  her 
eyes  lighted  him  along  his  way  with  joyful 
thanks. 

Azarian,  being  well  pleased  with  himself, 
repeated  the  experiment  of  the  play.  Too 
prominent  a  personage  in  his  own  circle  to 
enter  a  local  theatre  without  notice,  more 
glances  than  one  had  been  directed  at  his 
companions,  —  at  the  frail  loveliness  of  the  old 
man's  face,  the  silver  locks  floating  round  it 
from  under  the  little  black  velvet  cap,  —  at 
the  quaint  picturesqueness  of  the  girl,  with  a 
something  alien,  a  strange  element  that,  just 
as  you  found  her  beautiful,  presented  itself 
and  absorbed  the  possibility,  and,  trying  to 
seize  its  volatile  mystery,  escaped  beneath  your 
gaze,  —  the  subtle  writing,  the  braided  har- 


AZA  RIA  N.  47 

mony  of  feature,  the  self-involution  of  genius. 
One  or  two  of  the  players,  with  all  of  whom 
he  was  on  terms  of  good-fellowship,  came 
glancing  through  the  side-scenes,  on  the  first 
night,  and  wondered  what  little  piece  Azarian 
had  picked  up  now.  Opera-glasses  were  lev- 
elled, bows  were  interchanged,  fair  fingers  and 
glancing  fans  vainly  beckoned,  on  the  next. 
Half  a  dozen  of  his  acquaintance  found  impor- 
tant reasons  for  joining  him  a  moment  in  the 
interludes,  to  retire  and  pronounce  his  friends 
to  be  foreigners,  as  no  introductions  had 
followed.  And  when,  at  the  play's  conclusion, 
they  resorted  to  Yergne's  and  waited  for  their 
escaloped  oysters,  the  place  became  thronged 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  cause  the  poor  young 
maiden  at  the  desk  to  lose  her  reckoning 
and  her  wits  altogether.  This  was  by  no 
means  offensive  to  Azarian ;  he  was  well  ac- 
customed to  pursuit,  and  to  that  rather  frank 
love-making  in  which  the  younger  damsels  of 


48  AZARIAN. 

America  excel ;  he  had  been  the  recipient  of 
tri-cornered  notes  by  the  mail-ful,  of  bouquets 
with  a  well-known  ring  among  the  flowers, 
and  had  even  been  waylaid  in  the  halls  of 
his  hotel  for  a  lock  of  hair,  —  all  which  was 
beneath  contempt;  moreover,  ladies  of  grace 
and  wit  and  courtesy  and  piquant  reserves 
had  unbent  to  him  as  to  no  other ;  he  knew 
well  now  that  not  one  of  them  would  leave 
their  luxurious  homes  to  share  his  life  of  pos- 
sible struggle,  had  he  ever  intended  to  ask 
them,  and  he  took  a  somewhat  malicious 
pleasure  in  exciting  their  interest  anew,  and 
in  baffling  the  other  sex  as  well  with  his  little 
incognita.  The  delicate  titillation  applied  to 
his  hidden  vanity  made  him  superb.  Char- 
mian,  at  another  table,  sat  back  in  her  chair 
with  grim  irony,  -but  Azarian  shone.  He 
was  sure  of  dozens  of  dancing  eyes,  from  the 
other  seats,  from  the  gallery ;  he  slipped  to 
Charmian's  side  and  asked  her  audibly  would 


.  AZARIAN.  49 

she  not  come  and  see  his  friends,  which  she 
declined  for  that  time ;  he  had  a  gay  sente'nce 
for  every  one  that  passed  him,  he  expended  his 
skill  and  tact  in  keeping  them  all  in  the  dark. 
And  meanwhile  the  old  father  looked  eager- 
ly on  what  seemed  to  him  so  bright  a  scene, 
musing  with  dreamy  pleasure  over  the  gay 
and  brilliant  world.  And  in  the  intoxicating 
light,  the  perfumes  of  dying  flowers,  the 
plash  of  the  little  fountain,  drawn  to  depend 
on  him  through  her  timidity,  Ruth  sat  un- 
conscious of  the  coil,  sat  under  the  influence 
of  Azarian's  sweet  and  subtle  smiles,  the 
object  of  all  his  careless  grace,  beaming  back 
upon  him  out  of  beautiful  happy  eyes. 

Azarian  was  capable  of  that  air  which  puts 
all  questioning  to  the  right-about ;  he  enjoyed 
the  little  mystery  among  his  acquaintance,  he 
said  so  to  himself,  and  doubtless  thought,  in- 
deed, that  was  his  only  reason  for  meeting 
Ruth  upon  her  walks  and  turning  them  into 


50  AZARIAN.  . 

longer  and  more  public  strolls,  where  he  bent 
to  lier  voice  devotedly,  met  her  serious  upcast 
eyes  with  steady  gaze,  and  inspired  in  her  a 
confidence,  a  reliance,  and  an  association  of 
himself  with  purity,  integrity,  philosophy,  and 
strength.  Not  that  he  had  the  first  intention 
of  inspiring  any  such  confidence,  any  such 
association ;  he  would  have  laughed  at  the 
idea,  for  he  knew  himself  much  better  than 
Ruth  did,  after  all,  and  often  made  a  note  of 
his  various  weaknesses,  —  indeed,  making  such 
note  was  one  of  his  strong  points.  But  Miss 
Yetton,  like  many  another  woman,  saw  in  this 
man  not  what  he  had,  but  what  she  needed, — 
and  as  for  him,  clear  as  his  sight  was,  and 
shallow  as  his  nature,  the  one  failed  to  pene- 
trate the  other,  —  for  he  thought  he  amused 
himself. 

Ruth  was  still  working  on  the  order  for 
the  autumn  leaves.  Almost  every  other  day 
she  had  gone  out  into  the  country,  and  almost 


AZARIAN.  51 

every  other  day  Azarian  had  gone  with  her, 
now  together  in  the  cars,  now,  since  superi- 
ority of  strength  is  one  of  the  surest  attrac- 
tions, driving  her  behind  a  high-stepping 
horse  that  brought  his  physical  powers  well 
into  play,  —  for  her  father  of  late  was  less 
and  less  inclined  to  go,  and  Azarian  always 
followed  up  his  fancies  closely.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  as  they  went  across  the  Common,  a 
leaf  fluttered  into  her  hand,  whose  peer  no 
forest  could  produce,  and  towards  whose  cu- 
riously flecked  and  painted  beauty  the  whole 
ripening  year  seemed  to -have  converged;  but 
oftener  they  went  into  a  maze  of  woodland, 
where  the  dew-drops  still  glittered  on  all  the 
splendid  points  of  color,  where  the  hills 
wrapped  themselves  far  off  in  bhie  mist,  and 
only  some  giant  rose  seemed  to  blossom  at 
their  skirts  and  seal  them  from  entirely  fad- 
ing and  dissolving  into  dreams.  Together 
the  two  wandered  down  lanes  all  aglow  with. 


52  AZARIAN. 

the  pendent  jewels  of  the  barberry-bushes,  as 
it  were  a  very  Aladdin's  garden ;  they  rested 
with  the  light  flickering  over  them  through 
ruby  domes  of  oak,  they  stood  to  watch  some 
golden  beech  intensify  the  sunshine,  they 
broke  down  maple-branches  with  every  leaf 
dancing  on  its  separate  stem  like  a  tongue 
of  fluttering  fire  and  casting  off  a  flock  of 
scarlet  shadows,  they  pictured  the  desert-edge 
beneath  some  beam  of  sunset  when  the  wild 
sumachs  tossed  their  crimson  boughs  like 
palms,  they  sat  down  at  length  under  majestic 
hemlocks  where  a  wild  vine  twisted  itself 
among  the  knolls  as  a  gorgeously  freaked 
and  freckled  snake  might  do.  All  the  ripe 
earth  beneath  the  last  touch  of  the  burnish- 
ing sunshine,  all  the  sweet  rich  air,  full  of  its 
mild  decay,  all  the  fulfilled  expression  of 
the  year,  the  peace,  the  pause,  breathed  only 
hope  about  the  one  and  a  soft  regret  about 
the  other. 


AZARIAN.  53 

"  These  hemlocks  always  put  me  in  mind 
of  some  long-forgotten  time  of  innocence  and 
freshness,"  said  Azarian.  "  Perhaps  of  that 
when  I  first  met  you,  Ruth." 

"Do  you  remember  that  time?"  asked 
Ruth,  swinging  her  leaves,  and  looking  off 
into  the  horizon. 

"  I  have  one  of  those  accursed  memories  that 
never  lose  anything.  Probably  I  can  recall  a 
hundred  incidents  that  you  lost  the  next  day." 

Ruth  laughed  incredulousness. 

"  How  pretty  somebody  is  when  she  laughs  ! 
Are  you  happy,  Ruth?" 

Ruth  nodded. 

"Let  me  see.  What  a  little  monster  I 
was  then,  —  but  you  believed  in  me,  you 
thought  I  was  Grand  Chevalier  of  the  White 
and  Black  Eagle.  Let  me  see.  Somebody 
was  calling  Ruth,  were  n't  they  ?  I  can  read 
that  morning  off  as  if  it  were  a  page.  Don't 
you  want  to  hear  it  ? " 


54  AZARIAN. 

Ruth  nodded  again. 

"I  was  a  bright-faced  boy  then,  an  hour 
ago  arrived.  Somebody  told  me  to  keep  the 
sun  in  my  eyes  and  I  'd  find  you.  So  the 
boy  started  at  a  run ;  but  the  fields  were 
empty  of  all  save  the  summer  hum  of  full 
July,  and  by  and  by  his  pace  slackened,  till 
at  length  he  stood  silently  gazing  up  into  the 
brilliant  sky  and  unconsciously  allowing  all 
the  blithe  fresh  forenoon  influences  to  touch 
him.  Suddenly  two  wide  wings,  two  quiver- 
ing lines  of  shadow,  trembled  across  his  vision. 
Up  went  hat  and  heels  in  hot  pursuit.  A 
strange  thing,  with  vivid  life  flashing  through 
its  shining  dyes,  all  barred  and  mottled  in 
garnet  lights  and  diamond  dust,  blown  to 
that  pasture-land  on  the  wind  sweeping  up 
from  richer  zones,  a  bubble  of  rays  and 
prisms,  frail  as  resplendent.  Odd  that  I 
should  treasure  that  butterfly,  when  men  and 
women  have  died  and  left  no  sign  on  my 


AZARIAN.  55 

experience!  Dancing  just  beyond,  the  but- 
terfly led  me  to  you.  But  that  was  the  last 
thing  I  thought  of.  —  The  boy,  always  remem- 
bering that  the  boy  means  me,  made  himself 
at  length,  like  the  small  savage  he  was,  a 
shoulder-knot  of  the  psyche,  the  royal  colors 
yet  palpitating  through  it,  but  life  and  radi- 
ance gone.  Then,  keeping  the  sun  in  his  face, 
he  went  along  towards  the  brook,  negligently 
fanning  himself  with  his  hat.  The  path  led 
him  into  a  grove  of  rustling  young  birches, 
whose  exuberant  glee  was  kept  within  bounds 
by  the  presence  of  a  commanding  hemlock  or 
two,  and  here  and  there  overawed  by  some 
martinet  of  a  maple.  The  sward  was  still 
tenderly  damp  and  starred  with  faintly-scent- 
ed wild-flowers,  and  suddenly  descending,  it 
opened  on  the  stream  that,  brawling  over 
eddies  and  rocks  above,  here  floated  itself 
on  in  tranquil  shadow,  to  brawl  again  in  foam 
over  eddies  and  rocks  below." 


56  AZARIAN. 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

"The  dew  yet  drenched  the  heavy  over- 
hanging branches,  the  laurel-wreaths  lay  pale 
upon  the  other  bank,  the  wild-rose  breathed 
its  fragrance  through  the  air ;  coming  from 
the  interspersed  sunshine  of  the  wood,  there 
was  a  sweet  and  serious  spell  about  the  cool 
noon-darkness  here." 

"Ah,  yes,  —  I  seem  to  feel  it  now." 

"  Sitting  on  a  fallen  trunk  that  bridged  the 
brook,  a  little  girl  appeared,  her  apron  full 
of  all  manner  of  blooms,  dipping  her  tare  feet 
in  and  out  of  the  sparkling  water,  and  in  a 
rapture  of  silence  as  some  bird  in  the  bougli 
poured  forth  his  jubilant  song.  In  a  min- 
ute"— 

Ruth  turned  upon  him  a  smiling  rosy 
face.  "  In  a  minute,"  said  she,  "  another 
bird  seemed  to  burlesque  the  same  song,  the 
branches  parted  and  tossed  in  a  shower  of 
sunshine,  and  the  boy  swung  himself  down  to 


AZARIAN.  57 

my  side.  Then  lie  bent  low,  hat  in  hand, 
and  uttered  his  name :  Constant  Azarian." 

"  Yes,  and  do  you  know  what  you  did  ? 
Stay,  I'm  telling  a  story,  why  do  you  keep 
interrupting  ?  The  girl,  a  quiet  unsmiling 
child,  very,  very  small,  having  almost  an  un- 
canny look  about  her  countenance,  with  its 
great  preponderating  eyes,  set  in  a  floating 
frame,  a  nimbus,  of  bright  hair,  —  it  was 
bright  then,  Ruth,  it  answered  brightly  when 
the  sun  stroked  it,  black  it  lay  in  the  shade,  — 
the  girl,  I  say,  surveyed  the  apparition  a  mo- 
ment ;  her  clear  glance  seemed  to  penetrate 
depths  in  him  who  depths  had  none,  but 
opposed  a  shallow  reflection.  That 's  the  case, 
you  need  n't  shake  your  head,  I  know  it  as 
well  as  another." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Ruth  quickly,  "  you  are 
mistaken,  if  you  think  so.  There  are  deep 
waters  in  every  one's  nature.  If  they  are 
sealed  in  the  rock  and  slumber  so  darkly  and 

3* 


58  AZARIAN. 

stilly  that  you  do  not  feel  them  yourself,  or 
only  in  indistinct  yearning  and  groping,  per- 
haps some  day  the  great  fact  will  come  that 
shall  smite  the  rock  and  set  them  flowing." 

"Just  as  kind  a  little  fancy  as  if  it  were 
the  truth.  Ah,  I  see,  tiny  artificer,  you  don't 
want  to  hear  what  you  did.  Did  you  remem- 
ber it  when  we  met  again  not  long  since, 
Ruth?" 

Kuth  nodded. 

"  Well,  you  may  apply  those  pink  fingers 
to  your  ears,  while  I  return  to  our  small 
people.  He  seemed  at  first  to  be  only  one 
of  her  dreams,  then  smiles  broke  about  her 
face ;  here  was  what  the  sad  little  thing  had 
waited  for ;  she  rose  quickly  and  met  him 
with  a  loud,  warm,  childish  kiss  on  either 
cheek.  The  boy  laughed.  The  tears  swept 
over  the  girl's  eyes.  '  Come,'  said  he,  in  i 
sweet  coaxing  voice  that  took  the  edge  off 
his  words,  —  it's  sweet  now,  isn't  it,  Ruth? 


•AZ ASIAN.  59 

— '  don't  you  go  to  crying.  Your  mother  '11 
scold  me  if  she  finds  it  out.  I  came  from 
the  city,  where  girls  don't  do  so,  you  know. 
But  I  like  to  have  you  kiss  me,  first  rate.'  — 
Ruth  —  ?  Well,  no  matter. —That  frosted 
you.  It  took  me  some  time  to  melt  the  icing. 
I  remember  how  I  bound  your  wreath,  how  I 
made  the  yellow  loosestrife  burn  in  your  hair, 
and  crowned  your  forehead  with  a  wild  lily, 
and  said  I  should  be  sure  to  remember  the 
azalia  because  it  was  like  my  own  name,  and 
you  said  it  was  delicious,  and,  more  timidly, 
that  my  name  was  too ;  and  when  I  had 
praised  you  and  said  that  flowers  always  made 
girls  pretty,  and  how  I  remembered  the  ladies 
at  mamma's,  shining  in  their  silver  wheat 
and  great  moss-roses,  you  begged  to  take  the 
wreath  on  your  arm,  where  you  could  look 
at  it  too.  You  'd  do  the  same  to-day.  Upon 
which  I  played  the  petty  tyrant.  0,  don't  dep- 
recate ;  it 's  all  fair  enough ;  I  like  to  tyran- 


60  AZARIAN. 

nize,  you  like  to  be  tyrannized.  I  called  you 
my  queen,  my  fairy-queen,  and  then  cate- 
chised you.  'What  makes  me  a  queen?' 
said  you.  '  0,  because  you  choose  me.' 

" '  No  indeed,'  said  I,  « it 's  just  the  crown. 
I  Ve  heard  my  father  say  —  my  father  's  a 
Greek,  —  did  you  know  it  ? ' 

"'What  is  it  to  be  a  Greek?' 

" « What  is  it  to  be  a  Greek !  Why,  it 's  to 
be  a  great  poet  and  a  great  orator  and  a 
great  actor,  and  to  have  chariots  and  horses 
and  games  and  beautiful  temples  and  gardens 
and  statues  —  0,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  your 
mother  wants  you  to  help  in  the  kitchen. 
Are  n't  you  hungry  ?  I  've  got  a  hard-bread 
in  my  pocket,  —  girls  don't  like  hard-bread. 
Come,  let's  go  along.'  Ruth,  that  was  I  in 
epitome,  a  diamond  edition! 

" '  Should  n't  you  like  some  honey  with  your 
hard-bread  ? '  asked  the  little  girl.  And  with- 
out more  words  she  led  the  way  to  a  hollow 


AZARIAN.  61 

tree  and  showed,  through  a  crevice,  deep 
down  in  its  heart  great  cake's  of  that  brown 
and  golden  encrustation  of  sunshine  and  per- 
fume and  dew. 

" '  It 's  good  for  my  cough,'  said  I. 

" '  I  like  honey  to  eat,'  said  she.  *  I  guess 
the  angels  had  it  when  they  went  to  see  Eve 
in  Eden.' 

"'Very  likely.' 

"  <  It 's  real  heavenly  .  food.  'T  was  St. 
John's  while  he  wrote  the  Revelation.  It 's 
made  out  of  flowers ;  it 's  the  sweet  juice  of 
roses,  and  of  azalias  too.  Warm  rain-storms 
and  the  south  winds  and  all  the  sunshine 
helped  to  make  it,  you  know.' 

" '  Yes,  —  but  how  are  you  going  to  get  at 
it?' 

"  '  Why,  I  never  do.  It 's  too  precious,'  said 
she,  confessing  to  a  kind  of  sacrament  of 
summer.  'I  just  put  my  finger  in  there 
sometimes.  There  's  so  much,  'I  don't  think 
the  bees  mind.' 


62  AZARIAN. 

•" '  Great  I  care  whether  they  do  or  not ! 
Here  goes ! '  and  the  bark  was  being  pounded 
in  with  a  stone,  and  a  swarm  of  darkness, 
of  angry  seething  turbulence,  was  raging  all 
about  us.  Remember?  Ah,  I  see,  —  your 
little  lips  are  burning  now." 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  living  those  happy  days 
over  again." 

"  If  you  call  it  happiness  to  be  stung  to 
death  by  the  bees,  I  take  issue." 

"  Thanks  to  your  master  in  Virgil,  we  es- 
caped." 

"Finish  the  story  for  me,  Ruth.  Finish 
it  as  you  did  then." 

"  I  am  afraid  my  invention  is  not  equal 
to  yours." 

"  Little  witch !  You  accused  me  of  having 
saved  your  life." 

"  And  so  you  did." 

.    "Well,  yes,  I  suppose  I  did,  —  as  I  said 
at  the  time,  in  a  mjmic  and  lordly  complai- 


A  Z ARI AN.  63 

sance.  *  But  what  ever  made  you  mention 
the  honey,  I  should  like  to  know,'  was  what 
I  added  then.  'You  shouldn't  have  taken 
me  right  to  that  tree,  you  should  have  known 
better,'  growing  severe  as  the  remembrance 
nettled.  * One  of  them  's  stung  my  hand. 
Pshaw !  I  could  save  a  dozen  girls'  lives ! ' 
replied  your  hero.  But  you  were  not  waiting 
for  his  reply.  So  entirely  had  you  already 
invested  him  with  ideal  attributes,  that,  know- 
ing he  would  always  say  the  perfect  thing, 
your  complete  attention  to  his  real  utterance 
was  unnecessary.  You  have  n't  changed  a 
whit.  '  0,  you  saved  my  life,  Constant ! ' 
you  cried.  '  I  always  shall  love  you ! '  " 

Suddenly  Euth  started  to  find  that  her 
hand  had  been  in  his,  —  how  long  she  did  not 
know.  And  suddenly,  somehow,  she  never 
could  tell  how  and  Azarian  never  could  tell 
why,  she  found  herself  drawn  and  wrapped 
in  a  clasp  that  checked  her  pulses,  and  his 


64  AZARIAN. 

voice  was  murmuring,  "Euth,  sweet  Ruth, 
you  told  the  truth !  My  own,  you  do  love 
me ! "  And  then  his  kisses  closed  her  lips 
in  burning  silence. 

Happy  little  Ruth,  she  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve her  senses;  she  felt  discovered,  and  in 
her  pretty  shame  was  lovelier  than  ever,  and 
during  those  early  days  had  only  to  spring 
and  hide  her  laughing  blushes  in  his  arms. 
She  went  home  on  air,  it  was  not  the  familiar 
earth  which  they  trod,  the  atmosphere  was 
some  rosy  cloud  of  sunset  enfolding  them 
with  radiance,  informing  them  with  warmth, 
youth  and  strength  and  immortality  pulsed 
along  their  veins  with  every  throb ;  it  was 
the  life  of  another  sphere.  She  sat,  that 
evening,  in  the  enchanted  circle  of  his  breath, 
incapable  of  thought,  she  lay  the  innocent 
night  in  a  dazzled  dream  of  delight.  The 
days  floated  along  and  bore  her  with  them 
upbuoyed  on  their  blissful  tide.  .Ruth  won- 


AZARIAN.  65 

dered  at  herself,  looked  curiously  at  her  hand 
to  think  that  his  kiss  had  fallen  upon  it, 
glanced  of  a  morning  in  the  little  dressing- 
mirror  with  half  a  reverence  for  the  form  he 
loved.  She  asked  if  it  could  be  true  that 
this  transcendent  fate  was  hers ;  she  had  seen 
so  much  sorrow  that  she  fancied  such  joy  was 
almost  heaven-defying,  and,  fearing  the  crash 
of  some  thunderbolt,  opposed  nothing  but  hu- 
mility ;  she  understood  now  why  certain  an- 
cients poured  libations  and  deprecated  the 
offices  of  evil  deities  and  untoward  chances. 
She  had  sometimes  thought  of  love,  as  all 
girls  will,  —  perhaps  had  longed  for  it,  perhaps 
had  sighed  to  see  the  bloom  of  youth  depart- 
ing and  leaving  her  without  it ;  and  suddenly 
the  mighty  gates  had  swung  aside,  and  a  great ' 
destiny  had  taken  her  by  the  hand  and  led 
her  to  the  edge  of  heaven.  She  wondered, 
too,  what  the  matchless  Azarian  had  found 
in  her;  she  trembled  lest  there  might  have 


66  AZARIAN. 

been  a  glamour  on  his  eyes  that  should  dissolve 
and  let  him  see  only  the  little  threadbare  soul 
of  Ruth  Yetton.  She  desired  to  enter  his 
inmost  being,  and  in  praying  that  he  might 
become  one  with  her  she  strove  to  make  her 
nature  ever  lovelier  that  he  might  suffer  no 
degradation.  She  confided  to  Azarian  all  these 
fears  and  fancies,  he  received  them  as  a  ro- 
mance of  which  he  unexpectedly  found  him- 
self the  hero,  and  heard  their  novel  burden 
with  pure  pleasure.  He  was  abandoned  to 
this  happy  flight  of  time,  this  forgetf illness 
of  the  outer  world,  not  by  any  choice,  but 
as  it  were  in  spite  of  himself.  He  sat  just 
now  like  some  one  dazed  by  the  lights  at  a 
banquet  where  the  future  was  perpetually 
pledged ;  the  cup  was  in  his  hand,  and  all 
the  years  to  come  will  present  Azarian  noth- 
ing of  more  virtue  than  this  elixir  at  which 
he  only  wet  his  lips. 


II.  • 

Bur  as  Euth  loved,  she  labored.  Here  this 
strong  efflux  of  her  heart  swept  her  out  on 
i'ts  current  to  a  fuller  and  richer  performance  ; 
those  autumn-leaves  illumined  the  place;  no- 
body but  Nature  and  Miss  Yetton  dared  to 
use  such  shades,  some  one  had  said. 

There  they  lay,  as  if  the  very  earth  had 
dashed  her  heart's-blood  through  them,  —  the 
stains  of  rust  and  gold,  the  streaks  of  sun, 
the  sign  of  jostling  coteries,  the  sinuous  trail 
of  the  tiny  worm  traced  in  tawny  tints  amidst 
the  sumptuous  dyes,  dun  here  as  if  wine  had 
been  poured  upon  them,  blazing  there  in 
vermeil  ardency,  one  opaque  with  a  late 
greenness  full  of  succulence  and  studded 
with  starry  sprinkle  and  spatter  of  splendor, 


68  AZARIAN. 

another  dancing  on  its  airy  stem  a  golden 
flame  transparent  as  a  film  of  sunshine,  —  the 
tender  purple  of  the  pensive  ash,  the  gilded 
bronze  of  beeches,  the  fine  scarlet  of  the 
blackberry-vine,  —  these  separate  and  delicate- 
ly wrought  and  grained  with  rare  blending  of 
umber  and  carmine,  damasked  with  deepening 
layer  and  spilth  of  color,  brinded  and  barred 
and  blotted  beneath  the  dripping  fingers  of 
October,  nipped  by  nest-lining  bees,  suffused 
through  all  their  veins  with  the  shining  soul 
of  the  mild  and  mellow  season,  — «those  height- 
ened by  swarming  shadows  of  blue  and  gray 
and  cast  upon  the  page  in  a  broad  ripe  flush 
and  glow  as  if  fresh-bathed  in  wells  of  crimson 
fire.  To  slender  petiole  and  node  and  bud, 
they  lay  there  finished  and  perfect. 

"Pretty  Patience!"  said  Azarian,  spread- 
ing them  about  him.  "How  you  sting  me! 
/  complete  nothing.  But  these  —  do  they 
not  really  put  a  polish  on  Nature  ?  " 


AZARIAN.  69 

"  Not  unless  you  pnt  the  polish  first  in 
plucking  them  for  me." 

"Made  for  a  courtier.  Well,  when  the 
republic  is  in  ruins  and  I  am  county  of 
clouds,  one  room  in  our  palace  shall  have 
panels  of  these  in  great  boughs,  so  that 
we  may  fancy  ourselves  in  sunset  at  com- 
mand." 

"  '  When  the  republic  is  in  ruins  '  our  dust 
will  be  forgotten,  —  so  you  shall  have  them 
now ! " 

"  Not  so  fast.  I  for  one  expect  a  driver. 
I  'm  tired  of  this  omnibus  where  every  fool 
is  pulling  the  check.  There 's  a  hickory 
for  you !  Little  woman,  you  have  a  pact  and 
league  with  certain  tipsy  dryads,  I  'm  sure ; 
they  had  such  a  head  of  color  on  when  they 
told  you  their  secrets  that  they  reeled.  Su- 
perb. 

'  That  crimson  the  creeper's  leaf  across, 
Like  a  splash  of  blood,  intense,  abrupt, 
On  a  shield,  else  gold  from  rim  to  boss.' 


70  AZARIAN. 

You  're  a  witch  with  a  charm  at  your  fingers' 
ends." 

"  Why  have  you  never  completed  anything, 
Constant  ?  " 

"  '  Still  harping  on  my  daughter  ? '  You 
want  to  read  me  a  lecture,  do  you  ?  Neither 
variableness  nor  shadow  of  turning.  So  to 
speak,  I  never  did  complete  anything.  The 
portraits  are  nothing.  Then  there  's  my  an- 
tique,—  it's  a  fact  in  physics,  that  where  the 
head  can  go  the  rest  can  follow ;  so  having 
cleared  the  way,  I  relied  on  that  fact  and  left 
the  fellow  to  shift  for  himself, — if  he  wants 
to  come  he  can.  It 's  true  in  other  things 
as  well ;  had  I  never  admired  your  works 
with  my  head,  I  had  never  admired  you  with 
my  heart,  —  always  allowing  that  I  have  one  : 
where  my  head  went,  my  heart  followed." 

"Yes,  dear,  but"  — 

"Well,  then,  there  is  one  affair  finished; 
but  you  'd  laugh  at  it." 

"  I? " 


AZARIAN.  71 

"  Truly  ?  I  will  subject  it  to  your  sublime 
consideration  this  evening." 

When  Azarian  had  gone,  Miss  Yetton  saw 
that  her  father  was  busy  at  his  work,  —  a 
series  of  her  painted  cards  whereof  he  meant 
to  make  a  Jacob's  Ladder  of  flowers  and 
angels,  with  which  to  surprise  some  one  of 
the  little  children  whom  he  met  upon  his 
strolls,  but  which  made  progress  backward,  be- 
cause, as  Azarian  said,  when  it  should  be  done 
he  would  have  to  part  with  it,  and  the  old 
gentleman  was  loath  to  make  renunciation. 
Leaving  him  happily  humming  over  them  all, 
she  went  out  in  search  of  Charmian. 

For  many  weeks  Charmian  had  been  away 
with  the  company  that  she  had  mentioned ;  she 
had  written  to  Ruth  of  her  approach,  and  Ruth 
had  seen  by  Azarian's  paper  that  she  was  at 
last  announced  for  that  evening.  Knowing 
that  it  would  be  vain  to  seek  her  elsewhere,  she 
bent  her  way  to  the  theatre,  and  slipping  in 


72  AZARIAN. 

past  green-room  and  dressing-rooms,  through 
all  the  labyrinthine  ways,  under  the  lofty  flies, 
—  astride  which  Azarian  had  told  her  he  once 
was  fond  of  sitting,  so  that  the  opera-strains 
rose  blended  in  a  perfect  strand  of  unison,  — 
slipping  by  juts  of  scenery  where  trees  grew 
out  of  fireplaces,  and  among  great  coils  of 
ropes  and  pulleys,  cables  reaching  this  way 
and  that,  up  and  down,  all  in  a  kind  of  yellow 
twilight,  a  hollow  sunshine,  far  aloft,  swim- 
ming full  of  dusty  motes,  —  till,  stealing  over 
one  end  of  the  bare  stage,  she  took  an  empty 
chair  and  watched  her  chances.  Before  her 
lay  the  great,  silent,  black  and  empty  theatre, 
beside  her  moved  a  throng  of  tiny  people 
chattering  in  an  inane  and  indifferent  way 
some  to  the  rafters  and  some  to  their  gloves, 
with  much  flirting  and  grimacing  in  the  side- 
scenes  now  and  then  stridently  hissed  by  the 
prompter.  As  Miss  Yetton  gazed  out  into 
the  vast  building,  along  the  vacant  pit,  up 


A  Z AR1 AN.  73 

the  galleries,  whose  crimson  luxury  and  gilt 
and  frescoed  fronts  were  all  hidden  in  sombre- 
stretching  draperies,  some  sense  of  the  drama 
of  the  world  suddenly  struck  her,  its  tragedy, 
its  wild  comedy  like  ocean-spray  tossing  at 
the  moon,  its  unities  and  antitheses,  its  Fates, 
and,  being  ever  a  less  reflective  than  sentient 
nature,  it  was  more  by  hit  than  any  good 
wit  that,  as  a  vague  premonition  of  her  own' 
part  therein  floated  athwart  her  perception, 
she  did  not  rise  and  rehearse  with  wringing 
hands.  But  perhaps  a  little  breath  saved 
her,  for  between  life  and  emptiness  there  is 
alway  set  a  certain  gulf,  which,  however 
feasible  it  seems,  it  is  from  either  side  im- 
possible to  cross  and  to  return  again,  and 
here  the  gulf  was  music,*  from  which  an 

*  "  A  little  gulf  of  music  intervenes, 

A  bridge  of  sighs, 
Where  still  the  cunning  of  the  curtain  screens 

Art's  paradise." 

MRS.  HOWE. 


74  AZARIAN. 

idle  air  blew  up  and  scattered  her  dream, — 
for  from  two  or  three  instruments  down  there 
on  the  edge  of  the  void  there  gushed  under 
its  breath  a  lilting  sparkling  stream,  an  airy 
capriccio,  a  wild  witch-music,  the  flutes,  with 
the  deeper  wood  winding  in,  the  violins  dan- 
cing pizzicato,  and  the  three  braiding  into 
harmony  at  the  close,  —  and,  under  the  magic 
wand  of  the  conductor,  the  wide  amphithea- 
tre seemed  slowly  to  assume  the  guise  of  the 
glittering  night,  blossoming  out  with  head 
after  head  beyond,  jewels  and  shining  silks 
and  snowy  furs, ,  with  creamy  shoulders  and 
beautiful  faces  lingeringly  unfolding  like  the 
petals  of  a  rose,  with  the  great  basket  of  light 
up  there  in  the  dome  pouring  down  on  all 
its  brimming  burden  of  lustre.  Suddenly, 
a  voice  crying,  "  A  pound  and  a  half  more 
to  your  thunder !  "  startled  her,  the  light  and 
color  flashed  off  and  faded,  the  place  was  bare 
again,  the  rehearsal  was  over,  and  Charmian 
was  approaching. 


AZARIAN.  75 

Charmian  looked  very  stately  and  pale  in 
her  black  silk,  with  a  hood  half  thrown 
back,  but  her  face  was  beaming  as  she  took 
Ruth's  chin  and  tilted  her  head  that  she  might 
look  into  the  eyes,  —  eyes  for  a  moment  timid, 
then  frank  and  resolute. 

"  So,  you  fancied  you  had  a  secret  for  me," 
said  Charmian.  "Ah,  tell-tale  face  to  betray 
the  shrinking  heart !  I  should  have  known 
it  if  I  had  not  met  Azarian  and  walked  here 
with  him  an  hour  ago,  And  angered  him 
withal.  Are  you  happy,  Ruth?  Tell  me, 
does  your  heart  seem  all  shivered  and  dis- 
solved and  floating  like  motes  in  a  great 
beam  of  joy  ?  Are  you  truly  happy  ?  Well, 
then,  I  am.  Kiss  and  be  friends.  Dear  little 
child,  you  love  me  yet  ? " 

But  Ruth  had  her  arms  already  about 
Charmian's  neck,  for  they  were  alone,  and 
was  kissing  the  white  throat  in  a  half-hysteric 
of  confession  and  assurance. 


76  AZARIAN. 

"What  an  impulsive  passionate  child  it 
is!"  said  the  other.  "Here  is  a  posy  for  her," 
giving  her  the  single  blossom  which  she  had 
been  twirling  in  her  hand.  "  I  kept  it  fresh 
all  the  way.  It  came  from  the  great  govern- 
ment greenhouses.  Look  at  it,  Ruth,  so  reg- 
nant on  its  stem.  The  lady  of  a  Venetian 
Magnifico  assumed  such  shape  in  order  to  live 
on  a  little  longer  among  her  old  colors  and 
splendors,  —  but  it  took  the  torrid  belt  of  this 

New  World  to  give  it  to  her." 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  is  —  But  I  want  "  — 
"  No  you  don't,  my  dear.  I  am  not  going 
to  hear  a  word  till  I  can  have  it  all  in  a  nice 
cose  inside  your  own  room.  And  then  there 
is  not  time ;  I  make  a  luxury  of  my  enjoy- 
ments, and  I  am  not  going  to  take  your  story 
by  bits.  Dear  Ruth,  you  think  I  don't  want 
to  hear?  But  I  am  stunned  and  dazzled, — 
why  did  n't  you  write  ?  —  though  I  ought  to 
have  expected.  I  am  heartily  glad,  child,  to 


AZARIAN.  77 

have  you  in  love,  do  you  know.  You  won't 
think  it  intrusive?  But  I  wouldn't  give  a 
groat  for  those  who  have  not  been  once 
thoroughly  steeped  in  a  sincere  passion.  They 
stand  on  the  outside,  life  has  never  been 
deepened  for  them,  they  know  nothing  of  its 
arcana,. they  are  cold,  they  are  dull,  passing 
shadows,  unquickened  sods.  The  world  has 
no  meaning  for  them,  they  are  not  beating 
humanity,  but  stocks  and  stones,  their  blood 
has  not  been  set  in  tune  with  all  the  genera- 
tions. Ah,  well, — I 'have  a  history,  too.  One 
day  you  shall  hear  it.  A  great  shadow  dark- 
ened my  way,  —  till  it  was  transfigured.  I 
shall  always  be  simply  Charmian.  Ah,  well. 
Why  don't  you  ask  your  flower's  name, 
Ruth  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Charmian  dear  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  Queen  of  August.  If  you  could 
see  it  throned,  and  all  quivering  and  sparkling 
with  its  court !  It  would  be  your  first  actual 


78  AZARIAN. 

sight  of  one  of  those  plants  that  the  exploring 
expedition  described  as  appearing  to  live  with 
more  than  mere  vegetable  life,  to  soar  to,  and 
gain,  the  higher  delight  of  the  animal;  the 
petals  —  richest,  most  glowing  orange  —  spring 
up  erect  with  such  a  living  joy,  Ruth,  and  in 
those  wings,  and  in  its  bright  blue  dart,  the 
whole  flower  is  like  a  hovering  brilliant  bird,  a 
humming-bird  perhaps.  Is  it  not  ?  Don't 
you  feel  forcibly  and  irresistibly  its  claim  to 
a  rank  with  those  creatures  that  appreciate 
life,  even  if  it  be  only 

<  The  wild  joys  of  life,  —  the  mere  living  ? ' 

But  that's  not  the  power  of  the  thing,  after 
all.  It  is  this.  Think  of  your  country,  Ruth, 
all  your  great,  beautiful,  beloved  country,  its 
wide  savannas,  its  rushing  rivers,  its  pastures 
and  prairies,  its  mighty  mountains,  from  tropi- 
cal water  to  ice-bound  coast  peopled  and  peace- 
ful and  proud,  and  then  think  that  the  whole 


AZARIAN.  79 

of  its  crowded  wealth  freely  blossoms  in  this 
single  flower.  Keep  it  forever,  Ruth,  it  is  your 
country's  gift  to  you !  There 's  the  janitor 
nodding  us  out,"  and  they  went  down  the 
ways,  still  talking,  and  when  they  parted  it 
was  because  Charmian  was  going  to  dine  that 
day  with  some  grand  people.  But  she  could 
come  to-morrow  noon,  and  Ruth  was  to  tell 
her  all  about  it.  • 

Ruth  was  so  glad*  to  have  met  her  friend, 
she  had  so  much  to  say,  so  much  to  ask,  such 
advice  to  seek ;  and  the  sweet  confidence  and 
counsel  of  a  woman  are  not  to  be  spared  even 
when  a  lover  is  dearest  and  tenderest,  —  and  a 
dim  vague  feeling,  a  phantom  of  pain,  already 
followed  Ruth,  a  haunting  glimmer  of  thought 
that  perhaps  Azarian  was  not  a  very  tender 
lover,  perhaps  it  was  not  in  his  nature.  For 
love,  this  great  flood,  had  deepened  all  the 
channels  of  her  being  and  made  her  wants 
wider.  Still  he  had  chosen  her,  and  his  way 


80  AZARIAN. 

of  manifestation  ought  to  be  inconsequential, 
she  half  said  in  her  thoughts ;  so,  dismissing 
her  sole  shadow,  she  tripped  lightly  along,  an- 
ticipating the  pleasure  of  her  talk  with  Char- 
mian,  of  pouring  on  a  waiting  heart  all  the 
recital  of  her  happiness,  anticipating  that  sym- 
pathy which  is  balm  to  the  soul  excited  either 
with  joy  or  sorrow,  anticipating  that  to  which 
she  was  herself  to  listen,  with  a  tremor,  since 
she  could  not  associate  Charmian  with  suffer- 
ing, and  since  she  had  always  seemed  to  be 
one  of  those  people  of  large  intuitions  who  are 
acquainted  with  every  phase  of  a  passion  with- 
out its  experience,  —  a  thousand  at  once  happy 
and  sorry  ideas  occurring  which  must  be  re- 
peated, —  she  had  such  a  warm  little  heart, 
and  was  so  grateful  for  this  friendship.  So 
she  reached  home  and  went  out  with  her 
father  in  high  spirits  to  their  dinner,  —  never 
dreaming  how  high  spirits  presage  misfortune. 
It  was  in  the  evening  that  Azarian  came, 


AZARIAN.  81 

and,  in  his  lordly  style,  with  a  servant  follow- 
ing to  deposit  a  casket  and  a  violin-case  by  the 
door.  Azarian  was  brilliantly  handsome  that 
night,  his  face  overspread  with  a  shining  pallor, 
his  features,  cut  like  those  on  some  old  me- 
dallion coin,  keener  in  outline  than  ever,  the 
thin  lips  curved  .in  crimson  .and  showering 
mocking  smiles,  the  eyes  —  blue  steel-clad 
eyes  —  sparkling  at  all  they  touched,  and 
along  his  low  straight  brow  the  hair  lay  in 
great  flaccid  waves  of  gold  drenched  with 
some  penetrating  perfume,  an  Oriental  water 
that  stung  the  brain  to  vigor.  Never  was  he 
so  radiant  as  on  this  evening,  so  various,  so 
charming,  never  was  there  such  a  seducing 
sweetness  about  his  every  motion  to  wile  her 
'  soul  away,  and  all  the  time  some  reserve 
»  under  a  control  that,  though  imperial,  was 
too  graceful  to  be  more  than  half  suspected. 
Poor  little  Ruth,  —  it  was  something  to  see 
such  a  being  bending  all  his  powers  to  please 


82  AZARIAN. 

her,  the  love  kept  bubbling  up  in  her  heart 
and  suffusing  soul  and  body,  she  was  afraid 
her  face  would  harden  in  its  breathing  bloom- 
ing smile.  At  last  Mr.  Yetton  executed  a 
long-cherished  intention  and  went  to  bed, 
and  when  Ruth  returned  from  her  good-night 
kiss  she  found  Azarian  sitting  before  the  fire 
and  leaning  to  -warm  a  hand  at  the  blaze, 
the  violin  lying  beside  him,  and  the  bow  trail- 
ing from  his  other  hand.  She  went  and  sat 
down  on  the  mat  at  his  feet,  and  was  silent 
awhile,  because  too  full  of  quiet  happiness. 
At  length  Azarian  spoke. 

"I  saw  her,  Charmian,  to-day!"  said  he, 
with  an  abrupt  anger. 

A  thousand  quick  thoughts  lanced  them- 
selves through  Ruth's  brain. 

"Well,  dear,"  said  she. 

"  Being  an  excellent  mouser,  she  had 
guessed  our  engagement  on  sight.  'Some 
deity  appears  to  have  given  her  your  happi- 


A  Z  ART  AN.  83 

• 

ness  in  charge.  She  certainly  claims  a  free- 
hold in  you.  Perhaps  I  was  never  more  in- 
sulted than  by  her  daring  candor.  We  had 
one  sharp  thrust  of  words,  we  shall  have  no 
more.  Do  you  hear,  Ruth  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean ! " 

"  This.  If  that  woman  darkens  your  door 
again,  I  never  shall !  " 

"  Darling ! " 

"  I  am  quite  in  earnest,  dear  child  "  — 

"  You  can't  be.     Renounce  Charmian  ?  " 

"  Renounce  —  the  subject  is  not  strong 
enough  to  bear  such  a  heavy  word." 

"  There,  I  knew  you  were  in  jest  all  the 
time.  What  do  you  tease  your  dear  child 
for?  Why,  I  love  Charmian!'-' 

"And  you  say  you  love  me." 

"  I  say  so  !  " 

"  The  strongest  love  must  conquer.  Mine 
or  hers.  Take  your  choice,  Ruth." 

Ruth  could  not  believe  him,  it  seemed  as 


84  AZARIAN. 

if  her  happiness  were  a  fairy  thing  of  ice  dis- 
solving away  in  tears. 

"  0  Azarian !  "  she  cried,  "  I  cannot  do 
without  her;  she  is  all  the  friend  I  have;  I 
love  her !  " 

"  All  the  friend  you  have,"  he  repeated,  in 
a  grieved  and  quiet  voice.  "Well,  then  — 
good  by." 

He  could  leave  her  so  !  If  Ruth  had  had 
the  spirit  of  a  mouse!  As  it  was,  she  just 
clung  to  his  hand.  Then  of  a  sudden  he  grew 
very  kind,  he  bent,  whispering  endearments 
in  her  ear,  smoothing  down  her  fine  disor- 
dered hair,  letting  cool  kisses  fall  on  her 
heated  forehead,  overcoming  her  with  a  calm 
dignity  till  she  felt  like  a  naughty  wilful  child. 
All  at  once  Ruth  stilled  her  sobbing,  the 
troubled  waters  in  her  heart  swelled  and 
sighed  into  peace;  Azarian  was  playing  on 
his  violin.  A  Guarnerius,  one  of  the  crea- 
tions of  that  fantastic  genius  the  Giuseppe 


AZARIAN.  85 

del  Jesu,  whose  suave  rich  tone,  and  delicate 
yet  penetrating  sonority,  bend  and  rebound 
beneath  the  tune;  —  a  treasure  among  those 
brought  by  his  father  in  that  early  time  when 
the  man  had  felt  that  the  independence  of  his 
native  land  was  a  thing  not  worth  struggling 
for,  and,  having  culled  the  honey  of  Europe, 
came  to  these  "Western  shores  to  pass  his 
prime.  What  was  there  of  which  Azarian  was 
not  master?  Ruth's  admiration  of  his  pow- 
ers almost  equalled  her  love  of  himself,  —  but 
just  now  she  thought  clearly  of  nothing  of  the 
kind,  only  sat  wrapped  in  the  mist  of  music, 
for  he  improvised  a  singing  pastoral  of  night- 
fall when  the  kye  come  home.  At  length  the 
sound  ceased.  Ruth  did  not  speak  or  breathe, 
hoping  he  would  retake  the  burden,  and  kept 
quietly  gazing  into  the  fire  for  the  space  of 
half  an  hour.  Then  she  turned,  and  saw 
Azarian  with  his  head  fallen  forward  on  his 
arms,  as  they  lay  upon  the  table,  for  some 


86  AZARIAN. 

reason  very  tired,  and  quite  asleep.  She  came 
and  sat  opposite,  watching  him,  watching  the 
relief  of  the  perfect  profile,  the  lips  half-parted 
in  gentle  respiration,  watched  the  drooping 
lash,  the  fine  thread  of  pulse  that  fluttered 
through  those  purple  veins  on  the  beautiful 
temple,  watched  the  constraint  of  the  position, 
yet  the  abandon  of  the  sleep  in  it.  A  man,  the 
ruler  of  the  earth,  with  power  to  wrest  their  se- 
crets from  the  stars  and  rend  the  lightning  out 
of  heaven,  is  yet  so  touching  when  he  sleeps, 
because  so  helpless  then,  utterly  defenceless 
he  reposes  in  such  confidence  upon  the  uni- 
verse, the  dew  on  his  forehead  for  sole  chrism, 
the  seal  of  holy  sleep.  The  very  act  declares 
weakness,  so  that  one  would  fancy  a  bad  man, 
or  a  proud,  ashamed  to  close  his  eyes,  afraid 
moreover  of  all  the  demonic  phantasms  of 
that  wild  moment  when  the  brain  hangs  be- 
tween two  worlds,  and  on  the  edge  of  either. 
Slumber  is  such  confession  ;  volition  has 


AZARIAN.  '87 

ceased  to  crowd  her  secrets  down,  and  the 
fixed  cold  features  slowly  upheave  to  the  sur- 
face, and  float  on  the  tide  of  the  hour !  Per- 
haps Azarian's  dream  was  not  deep  enough 
for  any  such  surrender  of  his  nature ;  if  it 
had  been,  perhaps  Ruth  could  not  have  read 
it;  had  she  read  it,  she  would  still  have 
loved  him,  —  for  once  love,  and  you  tear  your 
flesh  and  blood  away  in  wringing  apart.  As 
it  was,  she  only  guarded  a  tenderer  silence, 
and  bent  yearningly  over  him,  as  a  mother 
yearns  in  some  passionate  instant  above  the 
child  on  her  knee.  She  thought  whether  or 
not  it  were  possible  to  make  this  sacrifice 
that  he  demanded,  and  she  saw  that  in 
the  extremity  of  her  affection  she  should 
esteem  it  lightness  to  lay  her  very  life  be- 
neath his  trampling  heel.  Still  some  por- 
tion of  the  sacrifice  was  Charmian's ;  and 
on  Azarian's  departure  that  night,  Ruth  re- 
fused the  promise  he  would  have  exacted, 


88  AZARIAN. 

telling  him  laughingly  that  in  the  morning  he 
would  blush  at  himself,  and  forgive  her.  But 
Azarian  shook  his  head,  and,  going,  paused  to 
call  back  from  the  foot  of  the  black  staircase, 
above  which  she  held  the  candle  and  hung 
her  pretty  face,  "Ruth,  dear  child,  I  am 
perfectly  in  earnest." 

It  was  high  noon  of  the  next  day  when  a 
something  queenly  tread  came  up  the  stair- 
way. Miss  Yetton's  door  was  closed;  —  the 
bare  hand  knocked.  There  was  a  hurried 
sound  within,  and  then  stillness.  Charmian 
tapped  again,  turned  the  lock,  and  partly 
entered.  Ruth  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  just  as  she  had  paused,  petrified,  in 
hastening  to  the  door,  her  face  not  less  white 
than  the  paper  in  her  hand.  Charmian's 
glance  coursed  through  the  room,  rested  at 
Azarian's  violin,  and  at  his  casket  yet  un- 
opened, was  caught  a  moment  by  a  white 
gauntlet  of  his,  flung,  perhaps  by  no  accident 


AZARIAN.  89 

on  his  part,  like  a  gage  on  the  table  there 
before  her,  —  then  came  back  to  Ruth  and 
saw  the  whole. 

• 

"  Come  here,  Ruth,"  said  she  cheerily. 

Ruth  came. 

"Things  will  be  straight,"  said  Charmian 
then,  "if  not  in  this  world,  why  then  in 
another !  Thank  God  for  that !  If  ever  you 
find  Azarian's  love  less  worth  than  mine,  come 
to  me  again !  For  mine  will  be  always  wait- 
ing for  you." 

She  remained  so  an  instant,  and  Ruth, 
trembling,  swaying,  sank  at  her  feet.  Then 
she  bent,  and  left  in  pledge  upon  Ruth's 
shaking  hand  her  ring,  whose  chrysolite  was 
flashing  like  the  morning-star. 

Concerning  that  passage  Azarian  never 
asked,  —  its  slender  pain  should  have  pricked 
his  selfishness.  Had  the  foe  been  an  actress 
of  celebrity,  he  might  have  swallowed  her 
affronts,  real  and  fancied  ;  as  it  was,  he  had 


90  'AZARIAN. 

already  confessed  to  himself  that  his  final 
captivation  was  a  foolish  affair,  and,  having 
philosophically  resolved  to  make  the  best  of 
it,  he  began  by  ordaining  for  his  little  Ruth 
other  intimacies.  Rank,  Azarian  assumed  to 
be  his  own ;  impecunious  as  he  might  be  to- 
day, he  meant  in  the  golden  future  to  make 
wealth  his  own  also ;  fame  belonged  to  him, 
too,  in  that  vista,  by  the  inherent  virtue  of 
his  easy  powers ;  and  having  thus  retarded 
himself  through  the  results  of  an  impetu- 
ous moment,  Azarian  boldly  asserted  that  he 
had  the  right  to  require  assistance  from  his 
wife,  —  that  she  must  put  her  hand  to  the 
social  wheel  and  mount  with  him.  But  life 
has  its  apsides ;  it  is  some  little  hidden  stroke 
of  nature,  some  sunbeam,  some  rain-drop, 
some  frost,  that  rounds  the  ripeness;  it  is, 
perhaps,  some  stir,  some  jostle,  that  completes 
the  lingering  crystallization.  A  trait  of  the 
kaleidoscope  belongs  to  us  all,  a  week's  ab- 


AZARIAN.  91 

sence  from  familiar  scenes  will  return  one 
with  the  world  on  another  centre,  —  and  since 
Charmian's  journey  and  engagement  abroad, 
Azarian  had  not  seen  her  play  ! 

That  very  afternoon  Azarian  came,  and 
with  him  two  fine  ladies  of  his  acijuamtance, 
to  call  upon  his  little  fiancee, — he  had  wearied 
of  the  incognita  ere  that  time.  But  under 
all  their  soft  voices,  their  silks  and  sables, 
Ruth  missed  the  great  bounding  heart  of  her 
friend.  After  they  went,  he  stayed,  on  the 
edge  of  dusk,  for  a  tea  made  gay  with  all 
his  endeavor,  and  then  nothing  would  do  but 
the  three  together  must  sally  forth  and  assist 
at  a  famous  farce  with  Laughter  holding  both 
his  sides,  to  make  the  fourth.  He  meant 
that  Ruth  should  forget  herself  in  jollity  a 
moment,  whether  she  would  or  no.  On  the 
next  morning  a  soft  snow-storm  fell,  and,  well 
guarded  among  all  its  frolicsome  myriads  of 
plumy  flakes,  Azarian  swept  her  out  into  the 


92  AZARIAN. 

country  to  catch  the  daring  sprite  in  the 
very  act  of  his  wizardry,  to  see  the  airy 
feathering  of  spray  and  tree,  the  pearly 
pencilling  of  the  vine-stem,  the  waterfall  burst- 
ing its  way  through  caves  of  soft-tufted  pow- 
dery crystal,  the  elms  like  foamy  fountain- 
sheaves,  the  dizzy  emptying  of  the  sky,  and 
all  the  wild  delights  of  the  magic  hour,  — 
till  the  arch  broke  up  in  sunset,  .and,  return- 
ing home  past  long  downy-drifting  fields,  they 
beheld  the  great  flush  overlay  the  dazzling 
smoothness  with  warmth,  and  beneath  the 
hillsides  of  country  churchyards  looked  to 
see  how  Nature  seemed  to  have  tucked  in 
all  the  graves  with  this  kind  coverlid  of  the 
snow  !  A  week  of  constant  devotion,  —  to 
give  him  all  possible  credit,  Azarian  had  re- 
solved that  Ruth  should  not  feel  the  want 
of  a  friend,  —  at  the  end  of  it,  he  fancied 
she  could  no  longer  miss  the  other,  his  pro- 
fession demanded  him,  and  he  was  tired.  He 


AZARIAN.  93 

had  been  very  tender,  and  Ruth  had  been 
very  happy;  she  had  shut  one  gate  of  her 
heart  and  let  the  waters  there  flow  back 
upon  themselves,  and  because  the  sacrifice 
had  been  great  indeed  to  her,  she  was  the 
more  rejoiced,  since  it  had  been  made  for 
him.  Now,  as  he  turned  himself  with  vigor 
to  his  daily  work,  she  took  up  hers  again, 
and  was  content  to  miss  him  in  the  daytime, 
his  coming  gave  such  cheeriness  to  night. 

One  evening,  at  last,  Azarian  brought  the 
still  unopened  casket  from  its  corner,  before 
taking  it  home  with  him. 

"  Well,  Eve,  my  Fatima,  have  you  learned 
the  contents  of  this  treasury  yet  ?  "  said  he. 

"  How  could  I,  thou  Bluebeard ! " 

"  Yet  it  retains  the  relics  of  a  passion. 
How  indeed?  Never  trust  a  woman  where 
you  can  trust  a  key,  is  an  excellent  motto." 
And  he  drew  the  article  in  question  from 
his  pocket,  threw  back  the  lid,  and  emptied 
the  shrine. 


94  AZARIAN. 

"My  talent  in  its  napkin,"  he  said  as  he 
held  the  thing  for  her  inspection. 

Carved  in  ivory  with  rarest  skill,  and  fin- 
ished to  the  last  point  of  perfection,  it  was 
a  vase  on  whose  processional  curve  forever 
circled  the  line  of  sanguine  beasts,  the  camelo- 
pard  and  the  lioness,  the  serpent  in  his  own 
volumes  intervolved,  with  old  Silenus  shaking 
his  stick  of  lilies,  and  the  wood-gods  in  a 
crew,  with  ocean  nymphs  and  hamadryades, 
and  the  rude  kings  of  pastoral  Garamant, 
bearing  honor  to  that 

"  Lovely  Lady  garmented  in  light," 

who,  sealed  amidst  a  snowy  chaos  of  broidered 
flower  and  vine,  lay  ever  keeping 

"  The  tenor  of  her  contemplations  calm, 
With  open  eyes,  closed  feet,  and  folded  palm." 

Azarian  looked  at  it  lovingly  as  Ruth  did. 
Often  languid  on  other  subjects,  he  was 
always  enthusiastic  upon  himself,  and  as  that 


AZARIAN.  95 

was  the  subject  Ruth  liked  best,  she  was  apt 
to  find  him  genial.  "  I  shall  just  set  it,  with 
all  its  blanched  beauty,  on  the  ground  out- 
side the  walls  of  heaven,  when  I  go  in ! " 
said  he.  "And  never  till  then  shall  I  part 
with  it,  never!  I  suppose  you  think,  if  I 
were  the  lover  I  should  be,  it  would  be  a 
wedding-present  for  you  then,  —  the  white 
witch  vase  !  "  he  added  laughing.  "  Now  sit 
down,  Ruth,  and  read  the  poem  to  yourself. 
It  is  the  Witch  of  Atlas,  you  know,  that 
topmost,  piece  of  pure  fancy.  I  wonder  no 
painter  ever  got  tangled  in  its  themes,  —  it 
needs  the  color,  —  there  is  flame  in  it,  too, 
to  paint,  such  blazo  of  precious  gums  and 
spices  as  pigment  and  pencil  have  never 
made !  Yet  what  might  not  the  bare  burin 
alone  do  for  those 

'  Panther-peopled  forests,  whose  shade  cast 
Darkness  and  odors  and  a  pleasure  hid 
In  melancholy  gloom  ! ' 


96  AZARIAN. 

And  Turner  himself  need  not  have  disdained 
some  flashes  of  the  boat's  -flight,  when 

'  The  circling  sun-bows  did  upbear 
Its  fall  down  the  hoar  precipice  of  spray, 
Lighting  it  far  upon  its  lampless  way,' 

or  where,  with  richer  contrast  of  shadows,  the 
billows 

'roared  to  feel 
The  swift  and  steady  motion  of  the  keel.' 

After  all,  it 's  best  as  it  is,  with  no  other  illus- 
tration than  its  own.  I  've  half  the  mind 
to  break  my  vase!  When  I  first  read  the 
thing,  it  was  like,  in  its  turbulence  of  fantas- 
ticism,  some  shattered  frieze  of  the  ages,  with 
half  the  fragments  lost ;  something  of  the 
antique  rose  before  me,  uriis  and  sarcophagi, 
and  Achilles  casting  his  yellow  locks  on  the 
tomb  of  Patroclus,  when  the  sweet  Witch 
shook 

'The  light  out  of  the  funeral  lamps.' 

Egypt  came  with  all  her  grotesque  awfulness 


AZARIAN.  97 

of  Imagery  behind  those  naked  boys  chariot- 
eering ghastly  alligators, 

'  By  Mceris  and  the  Mareotid  lakes.' 

And  it  was  one  of  the  Wild  Ladies  of  medi- 
aeval legends  themselves,  when,  chasing  the 
lightning, 

'  She  ran  upon  the  platforms  of  the  wind, 
And  laughed  to  hear  the  fire-balls  roar  behind.' 

[  like  it  because  it  has  scarcely  a  human 
sympathy,  because  its  region  is  so  remote,  the 
very  shoreless  air 

'  Of  those  mysterious  stars 
Which  hide  themselves  between  the  Earth  and  Mars.' 

There  's  the  place !  " 

And  while  Ruth  read,  Azarian  played, 
played  in  murmuring  minor  with  his  bow 
lightly  hovering  over  the  strings,  and  sup- 
plied the  verses'  only  want,  in  a  vague  sweet 
melancholy. 

So  the  evenings  went,  music  and  books  and 
talk,  so  blithe  and  swift  that  times  when  the 
5  G 


98  AZARIAN. 

lover  failed  to  appear  became  a  blank  of  lone- 
some longing.  Ruth  used  to  reflect  in  amaze- 
ment that  she  had  ever  been  happy  without 
Azarian,  and  in  her  lowliness  as  yet  exacting 
nothing  and  accepting  his  least  glance  as  free 
and  generous  largess,  she  never  thought  of 
reproach,  —  it  was  wonderful  that  he  should 
come  at  all,  —  the  times  were  all  the  happier 
when  after  any  absence  he  came  at  last.  Not 
so  with  Mr.  Yetton.  He  fretted  and  wondered 
and  watched,  laid  up  a  shower  of  sentences, 
none  of  which  had  he  ever  the  heart  to  ex- 
pend, and  could  not  be  induced  to  forsake  his 
post  till  Ruth  would  lay  her  weary  little  head 
upon  his  knee,  and  let  him  fold  his  slender 
hands  around  her  with  a  shadowy  feeling  that 
he  somehow  stood  between  her  and  sorrow. 

The  Spring  was  drawing  near  again.  Aza- 
rian was  very  busy,  and  had  already  acquired 
no  inconsiderable  renown  by  the  success  of 
an  operation  from  which  few  patients  had 


AZARIAN.  99 

ever  arisen  with  life.'  But  his  hand  was  tre- 
morless,  his  eye  was  pitiless ;  he  had  a  keen 
delight,  as  it  were,  in  surprising  the  Maker  at 
his  secrets ;  his  searching  knife  was  the  instru- 
ment of  a  defiant  curiosity ;  he  dared  beyond 
his  duty,  and  he  commanded  success.  To 
those  who  palpitated  beneath  the  steel,  his 
very  courage  was  tenderness.  There  were 
some  that  he  had  upraised  who  worshipped 
him  passing  upon  his  way,  as  if  he  had  the 
strength  of  a  young  god,  and  held  the  gift 
of  immortality  in  his  hand.  More  or  less, 
murmur  of  this  of  course  reached  Ruth.  She 
knew  that  his  fortunes  prospered,  perhaps 
she  was  ever  so  little  touched  that  he  made 
no  mention  of  marriage.  But  Azarian  had 
not  the  intention  of  marrying  till  his  menage 
could  equal  his  ideas.  Yet,  whether  or  no, 
Ruth  grew  glad  in  the  gladdening  season, 
because  Spring  ever  sends  fresh  sap  along  the 
veins  of  young  and  healthy  natures,  and  for 


100  AZARTAN. 

the  first  gift  of  the  opening  year  she  painted 
the  leafing  of  the  lime  as  we  find  it  on  one 
of  those  unexpected  mornings  when  the  great 
sweet  silent  power  has  wrought  outward  in 
the  night ;  the  bare  bough  where  the  shining 
ruby  sheaths  dispart,  that  the  tiny  emeralds 
heaped  within  may  tumble  out  together.  She 
did  not  work  now  so  assiduously  as  she  had 
been  used,  for,  besides  the  dissipation  of  her 
thoughts,  her  father  was  unable  to  go  on 
their  country  rambles,  and  she  seldom  liked 
to  leave  him.  Now  and  then  Azarian  brought 
in  a  fragrant  bunch  from  the  river-side,  or  left 
on  his  way  home  an  armful  of  blue  lupines, 
or  else  some  sabbatia  sprays,  —  those  rosy 
ghosts  that  haunt  the  Plymouth  ponds,  and, 
risen  from  the  edge  of  deep  water  among 
wading  reeds  and  sedges,  seem  to  belong  only 
to  that  one  incanting  moment  of  waning  after- 
noon sunshine,  —  now  and  then,  but  not  often, 
and  she  contented  herself  with  weaving  her 


AZARIAN.  101 

old  ideas  into  arabesque,  initial-letter,  and 
frontispiece,  and  harvested  the  sunshine  of 
the  long  bright  days  for  her  old  father's 
pleasure,  —  there  grew,  as  June  advanced,  to 
be  a  something  desert  in  the  sense  of  them 
to  Ruth. 

Azarian  had  by  this  time  a  new  fancy,  on 
which  he  spent  all  his  leisure,  —  a  slender 
blade-like  boat,  that  ripped  up  the  river  with 
a  gash.  In  it,  or  in  his  wherry,  he  lay  in  wait 
for  morn  rising  rosy  out  of  the  wave,  chased 
the  sunset  along  the  streams  at  dewfall,  and, 
shooting  down  again,  lingered  far  out  on  the 
mysterious  margin  of  midnight  to  surprise  the 
solemn  rites  of  the  turning  tide.  After  all, 
that  was  the  sacred  hour ;  it  seemed  to  him 
that  such  absence  and  negation  were  required 
for  the  complete  self-assertion  of  the  deep. 
He  leaned  over  his  boatside,  miles  away  from 
any  shore,  a  star  looked  down  from  far  above, 
a  star  looked  up  from  far  below,  the  glint 


102  AZARIAN. 

passed  as  instantly  and  left  him  the  sole  spirit 
between  immense  concaves  of  void  and  ful- 
ness, shut  in  like  the  flaw  in  a  diamond.  The 
sole  spirit  ?  What  was  this  vast  vague  essence 
then,  overpowering  his  tiny  limitation,  and 
falling  and  heaving  with  long  slow  surge 
about  him?  By  and  by,  perhaps,  the  broken 
blood-red  fragment  of  a  waning  moon  leaned 
up  the  horizon,  and  tipped  her  horns  to  fill 
the  giant  cup  hungrily  hollowed  to  hold  the 
ruby  flood.  But  now  it  was  all  dim  and 
dusk  and  dreamy.  Above,  a  wide  want,  a 
hush,  an  emptiness;  beneath,  a  mystery  that 
allured  and  fascinated  and  terrified,  and  all 
around  and  up  from  every  side,  the  great  tone, 
the  muffled  murmur,  the  everlasting  fugue 
sung  by  the  Sea.  An  unconscious  happy 
strain  was  it,  or  a  choral  of  rapt  worship, 
or  could  a  finer  sympathy  detect  a  restless 
sadness  there, 

"  Infinite  passion  and  the  pain 
Of  finite  hearts  that  yearn  "  ? 


AZARIAN.  103 

Was  he  weak  ?  he  silently  lifted  his  oars  and 
stole  away :  Actaeon  was  no  myth  to  him. 
Was  he  inspired  ?  a  sail  ran  up  and  length- 
ened on  the  wandering  wind ;  so  much  was 
the  talisman  for  more.  With  senses  known 
and  named  the  poets  deal,  but  there  are  others 
too  subtile  for  any  statistician  to  seize,  whose 
rare  quality  should  be  like  that  of  those 
volatile  liquors  which  evaporate  on  contact 
with  the  air;  these  a  floating  flower-scent 
wakens,  a  morning  breeze  just  dashed  with 
dew,  the  stray  sunlight  of  an  autumn  after- 
noon, a  breath  of  melancholy  tune,  and  these 
absorb  the  sounds  of  sea  at  midnight.  Aza- 
rian  was  alone,  and  brought  no  simply  human 
joy  or  sorrow  with  him ;  he  made  himself  akin 
to  the  wild  Thing  about  him ;  it  lay  open  to 
take  him,  it  wrapped  him  in  the  silence  of 
its  song,  ravelled  the  earth's  webs  from  his 
soul,  woke  him  only  with  a  lull.  He  had 
been  in  other  spheres,  he  had  learned  that 


104  AZARIAN. 

for  which  there  was  neither  speech  nor  lan- 
guage. But  though  the  deep-bosomed  ex- 
panses never  meant  to  reveal  to  him  their 
inmost  spells,  and  might  spurn  him  from 
aught  but  their  fringes,  and  though  what  the 
hour  showed  had  not  the  power  of  what  it 
hid,  the  imagination  of  this  bold  seeker  defied 
them  all,  and  filled  every  gulf  and  hollow  with 
its  light ;  his  fancy  flew  like  a  bird  and  hovered 
over  secret  solitudes,  and  though  he  found  in 
fact  only  what  he  brought,  yet  it  was  alche- 
mized by  all  these  unformulated  agents.  For 
Azarian  was  like  a  prophet  who  believes  in 
himself,  and  has  at  least  one  worshipper ;  ho 
fortified  his  faith  and  fertilized  his  possible 
genius  with  the  tilth  of  these  hours,  and  ac- 
cepted his  own  service  as  necessary  duty. 
Such  experiences  gave  him  material,  since  he 
argued  that  mere  emotion  is  the  crude  mass, 
but,  vivified  to  the  intellectual  point,  it  be- 
comes art,  and  he  that  knows  the  cipher  reads 
the  revelation. 


AZARIAN.  105 

"  Las  flores  del  romero, 

Nina  Isabel, 
Hoy  son  flores  azules, 
Y  manana  seran  miel," 

he  hummed,  as  he  sprang  up  from  the  dark 
wharves  and  threaded  the  lonely  echoing 
streets  without  a  thought  of  any  soft  sadden- 
ing eyes  that  might  have  watched  for  him 
so  long.  Yet  they  who  gather  their  honey 
from  laurels  will  eat  poison.  Azarian  was 
only  sowing  the  seed  of  his  rosemary. 

Perhaps  Azarian  took  no  account  of  the 
purely  physical  pleasure  his  boat  gave  him, 
though  in  reality  he  was  elated  by  the  seques- 
tration in  the  midst  of  garish  daylight  which 
it  afforded,  the  speed  and  prowess  were  keen 
exhilaration  ;  and  while  nothing  on  the  river 
competed  with  his  swift  supremacy,  —  neither 
college-craft  nor  water-barge,  and  if  any  dared 
the  race,  he  heedlessly  skimmed  along,  paus- 
ing perhaps  to  feather  an  oar  in  solitary  dis- 


106  AZARIAN. 

dain,  and  darting  off  again  in  matchless  flight, 
—  there  was,  withal,  the  least  effervescence  of 
pride  that  added  a  tang  to  its  relish. 

In  clear  noon-snatches  when  he  took  him- 
self to  his  boat,  Azarian  loved  to  peer  down 
through  the  yellow  limpid  harbor-waters  and 
watch  the  great  anchors  lying  there  blackly 
or  throwing  off  a  sidelong  gleam  to  flicker 
idly  upwards  ;  sometimes  he  stole  an  hour  to 
go  out  and  rock  on  the  swell  that  the  vast 
steamers  left  behind  them ;  once  his  oar  tan- 
gled in  the  tresses  of  some  drowned  girl, 
he  thought,  but  it  proved  to  be  only  the 
gorgonia,  a  splendid  -sea-weed  all  pulsating 
with  glow  of  lakes  and  madders,  which,  when 
he  had  carried  his  boat  between  the  bridge- 
piers  and  away  beyond  to  her  moorings,  he 
took  fresh-dripping  to  Ruth,  although,  so  soon 
as  it  was  dried  in  a  pale  purple  plume,  he 
reclaimed  and  donated  it  to  the  Natural  His- 
tory rooms.  There  was  a  charm  to  him,  as 


AZARIAN.  107 

well,  in  the  flavor  of  human  life  that  bordered 
all  the  region  of  tar  and  cordage,  of  aerial 
spire  and  dark  and  crowded  hulk,  the  life 
that  waited  on  the  whistling  winds,  —  the 
ships  winging  in  from  foreign  lauds  brought 
a  passenger  they  never  felt,  the  bales  of  mer- 
chandise swinging  up  from  the  holds  were 
rich  with  a  dust  of  fancy  that  did  not  weigh 
in  the  balance.  Thus  every  moment  became 
a  lure,  and  gradually  all  Ruth  saw  of  him 
was  in  these  broken  bits  of  time,  a  chance 
half-hour  at  night,  a  little  stroll  that  ended 
for  her  at  the  hospital-gate  in  the  morning, 
or  now  and  then  when  he  came  and  went 
out  with  them  to  dinner.  And'  of  late  Ruth 
used  to  turn  and  look  after  him  with  a  quick 
sparkle  in  her  eye,  —  these  long  longing  days 
were  not  making  a  saint  of  her,  —  and  then 
go  home  and  cry  over  her  viewless  work  to 
think  that  she  could  have  been  angry  an  in- 
stant with  her  dear  heart's-delight.  When, 


108  AZARIAN. 

at  last,  Azarian  ran  in  one  morning,  in  inso- 
lent spirits,  and  singing  gayly, — 

"  If  you  want  to  go  a-fishing, 
Do  your  duty  like  a  man, 
Tar  the  rope  and  tar  the  rigging, 
Ship  !  on  board  the  Mary  Ann ! " 

and  with  a  hurried  kiss  and  word  was  off  in 
a  vacation  for  a  trip  to  Labrador,  Ruth  took 
a  valiant  heart,  plucked  up  a  little  pride, 
wished  him  bon  voyage,  and  tried  not  to  throw 
a  glance  after  him.-  But  treading  lightly  back 
upon  his  steps,  he  flung  open^  the  door  and 
caught  her  after  all  peering  through  her  ivy- 
vines  ;  —  her  pretty  play  of  "piquant  anger 
lent  her  some  momentary  importance,  and  he 
dallied  with  a  lingering  adieu  that  made  her 
sad  and  glad  at  once. 

But  now  Ruth  resumed  her  old  toil  with  a 
will.  Previously  she  had  felt  little  of  that* 
independence  which  many  maidens  cherish ; 
she  had  indeed  laid  by  and  invested  a  few 


AZARIAN.  109 

hundred  dollars,  and  had  meant  to  add  to  it, 
that  one  day  her  father  might  have  his  long 
desire  and  return  to  some  little  house  among 
fields  and  hills  again ;  but  since  her  engage- 
ment, this  had  been  a  secondary  thing ;  her 
father  she  knew  could  never  leave  her,  she 
earned  enough  for  each  day's  wants,  and, 
far  from  wishing  to  make  provision  for  the 
future,  she  had  preferred  reliance  on  Azarian, 
she  was  glad  that  he  should  give  her  all, 
she  had  desired  to  owe  everything  to  him,  — 
but  now  things  were  changed.  So  she  worked. 
The  time  had  come  to  her  at  last,  as  it  comes 
to  every  woman,  when  she  felt  herself  to  be  an 
integer,  and  could  not  brook  the  treatment 
of  a  cipher.  Suddenly  one  morning  she 
flung  down  her  pencil;  some  secret  spring, 
she  felt,  was  undermining  all  the  fair  foun- 
dations of  her  love  ;  she  made  a  little  bonfire 
of  the  things  she  had  done  during  those 
feverish  days.  Then  she  turned  to  her  father, 


110  AZARIAN. 

and  her  heart  smote  her  to  see  how  pale  and 
patient  he  sat  there  while  she  had  been  ab- 
sorbed in  her  own  angry  fancy. 

A  pathetic  pain  cut  her  to  the  quick,  as 
she  contrasted  this  forlorn  wan  shadow  with 
that  manly  youth  of  his  still  within  her  - 
recollection.  And  after  that  was  gone,  fond 
old  memories  began  to  stir  in  their  sleep, 
while  she  gazed  on  him,  —  memories  sad  only 
with  that  pensiveness  which  clothes  the  past. 
Little  home-scenes  in  the  old  country-life, 
bringing  the  smile  with  the  sigh :  the  massa- 
cre of  her  innocents,  fifty  babies  organized 
from  transverse  rolls  of  rags  and  concealed, 
under  a  loose  board  in  the  garret  floor,  from 
the  invasions  of  the  boy  Azarian  lately  ar- 
rived,.—  on  seeking  which  hoard  one  morning, 
shrill  whoops  beneath  the  window  filled  her 
soul  with  dismay,  and  she  looked  down  on 
the  boy,  hatchet  in  hand,  executing  a  war- 
dance  before  a  log  where  lay  the  fifty,  with  > 


AZARIAN.  Ill 

their  little  heads  completely  severed  from  their 
bodies,  —  and  Ruth  had  wept  for  her  children 
and  would  not  be  comforted.  Then  her  fa- 
ther had  showed  her  the  securer  nest  of  a 
flat  rock  in  the  middle  of  the  wheat-field, 
and,  with  her  two  hands  before  her,  parting, 
like  a  swimmer,  the  tall  waving  growth  that 
arched  overhead  with  a  thousand  trembles  and 
curves,  and  feeling  it  close  up  behind  her 
and  leave  a  trackless  path,  she  went  every 
summer's  day  to  her  retreat,  always  letting 
the  walk  be  slow  and  stately,  with  some  dim 
Biblical  association  of  grandeur,  half  dream- 
ing herself  to  be  a  Hebrew  child  in  the  great 
path  of  the  Red  Sea  or  stepping  across  the 
Jordan,  behind  the  shrilling  trumpet-strains 
and  between  lofty  ramparts  of  scattering 
chrysophrase  momently  battlemented  in  daz- 
zling cresting  foam,  —  till,  reaching  the  flat 
white  rock,  hidden  from  all  but  the  ardent 
sky,  she  became  absorbed  in  fresh  family  cares 


112  AZARIAN. 

with  dolls  made  from  clustering  grass-spiies 
uprooted  and  inverted,  the  locks  combed  out 
upon  their  heads,  and  their  lengths  dressed 
in  store  of  leaves  which  she  had  brought 
along,  among  which  if  by  chance  some  early- 
ripened  spray  were  found  with  all  its  colors 
kindled  by  August  suns,  her  little  people 
rustled  about  as  gorgeously  as  dames  in 
Indian  cashmeres  and  silks  of  Smyrna.  But 
here,  too,  Azarian  had  surprised  her.  She 
remembered  placid  Sundays,  then,  when  her 
father  used  to  take  his  book,  and  go  out  with 
her  into  the  woods,  and,  after  he  had  sung 
his  hymns,  lie  back  in  the  grass  and  let  her 
play  with  his  eyes,  poke  about  the  lids  with 
her  rosy  finger-tips,  lift  the  fringes,  stare 
down  into  their  black  wells  that  always  gave 
back  her  tiny  reflection,  close  them  and  drop 
her  little  kisses  there.  And  with  that,  she 
bethought  herself  of  the  real  well,  balancing 
on  whose  curb  one  morning  and  admiring 


AZARIAN.  113 

the  bright-eyed  laughing  little  girl  down  there 
with  the  red  cheeks  and  the  mouthful  of 
pearls,  she  had  fallen  in  herself,  carrying  in 
h'er  plunge  the  bucket  and  its  chain  that 
rattled  in  her  ears  like  thunder;  and  just 
as,  faint  with  horror  and  cold,  her  cries  had 
ceased,  and  over  her  the  sky  had  seemed  to 
darken  and  send  out  its  stars,  a  great  bright 
face,  an  Angel's  face,  interposed  between  her 
and  the  deepening  heaven,  and  with  his  feet 
striking  from  stone  to  stone  of  the  greenly- 
streaked  and  slippery  shaft,  and  steadied  by 
his  hand  along  the  chain,  her  father  had 
dashed  down  and  swept  her  up,  as  it  seemed, 
in  a  breath,  and  tumbled  her  out  into  the 
warm  noon  light  and  upon  the  fresh  and 
fragrant  heaps  of  hay.  And  then,  with  re- 
currence of  the  chill,  she  thought  of  the 
broad  hearth  at  home,  the  blaze  in  the  vast 
chimney,  that,  summer  or  winter,  never  died, 
but  sent  the  light  of  its  flashes  to  dance  over 


114  AZARIAN. 

dresser  and  wall,  painting  a  hundred  ruddy 
pictures  in  the  bright  pewter  hanging  there, 
and  she  remembered  how  her  father  had  told 
her  the  tradition  that  from  a  fire  never  once 
going  out  in  seven  years  the  little  salamander 
sprang,  and  sitting  before  it  there  with  him 
night  after  night,  in  every  puff  of  smoke 
that  rolled  upward  faintly  blue,  in  every  fall 
of  embers  that  trembled  apart  into  white  ash 
and  glowing  coal,  in  every  ooze  and  simmer 
of  the  singing  log,  in  every  snapping  knot, 
she  had  looked  for  the  ruby  outline,  had 
feared  the  sparkling  eyes,  had  listened  for 
the  voice  of  the  mysterious  being  born  of 
fire  and  dwelling  in  its  hot  and  terribly 
beautiful  recesses.  At  such  times,  too,  her 
father  had  sung  her  strange  ballads,  barbarous 
thing?,  but  with  a  sweetness  like  that  of  wild- 
honey  in  their  tunes,  —  Fair  Rosamond,  — 
the  lay  of  where  the  ships  go  sailing,  —  a  Rev- 
olutionary air  whose  quaint  melody  charmed 


AZARIAN.  115 

her  not  half  so  much  as  the  dramatic  justice 
subsisting  between^two  of  its  stanzas,  running 
in  this  wise  :  — 

"  Next  morn,  at  broad  daylight, 

The  Constitution  hove  in  sight ; 
Dacres  ordered  all  his  men  a  glass  of  brandy  0  ! 

Saying,  do  boys  as  you  will, 

Here  our  wishes  we  fulfil, 
There  's  a  Yankee  frigate  bearing  down  quite  handy  0  ! 

"  When  Dacres  came  on  board 

To  deliver  up  his  sword, 
He  was  loath  to  leave  it,  'cause  it  looked  so  handy  0  ! 

You  may  keep  it,  says  brave  Hull  ; 

What  makes  you  look  so  dull  ? 
Come,  step  below  and  take  a  glass  of  brandy  0 ! " 

Ruth  reflected,  too,  with  what  a  keen  ad- 
venturous relish  he  had  used  to  peal  forth 
old  hunting-refrains,  or  the  burden  of  some 
wild  sea-song. 

"  The  stars  shine  bright,  and  the  moon  gives  light, 
And  my  mother  '11  be  looking  for  me. 


116  AZARIAN. 

She  may  look,  she  may  cry,  with  a  watery  eye, 

She  must  look  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 

« 
The  sea !     The  sea ! 

She  must  look  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

And  the  raging  seas  did  roar, 
And  the  stormy  winds  did  blow, 

While  we  poor  sailors  climbing  up  atop, 
And  the  land-lubbers  lying  down  below,  below,  below, 

And  the  land-lubbers  lying  down  below  !  " 

And  then  she  had  crept  into  his  waiting  arms 
and  been  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  sad  strain  of 

"  Weep  no  more,  lady, 

Thy  sorrows  are  in  vain ; 
For  violets  plucked,  the  sweetest  showers 
Will  ne'er  make  grow  again,"  — 

all  in  those  dear  dead  days  when  her  father 
had  completed  her  whole  horizon.  But  ah! 
how  different  now,  —  how  her  reliance  had 
turned  into  support,  and  how  poorly  indeed 
she  was  giving  back  to-day  the  wealth  of  com- 
fort and  delight  with  which  he  once  enriched 


AZARIAN.  117 

her,  when  he  had  it  to  bestow !  He  sat  there 
so  old  and  melancholy  and  feeble,  she  recalled 
him  so  hale  and  buoyant  and  young,  —  the 
tears  fell  down  her  face.  • 

There  was  a  bright  glance  in  Mr.  Yetton's 
eye  just  then,  to  which  it  had  long  been  un- 
accustomed ;  he  was  bending  forward,  and 
gazing  about  him  with  a  bewildered  air.  Ruth 
went  and  slowly  brushed  her  cheek  across  his 
brow. 

"Dear,"  said  he  quickly,  with  almost  a 
vigor  in  his  tone,  drawing  her  away  and  hold- 
ing her  to  look  at,  while  his  mind  travelled 
back  one  phase,  "  things  are  very  strange. 
Where  is  Charmian?" 

Ruth  burst  into  tears  outright. 

"  Don't,  my  dear,"  said  her  father  regret- 
fully, forgetting  his  question,  and  still  travel- 
ling back.  "  I  seem,"  said  he,  pressing  his 
hand  against  his  eyes,  "to  have  been  in  a 
dream.  Things  are  very  strange.  Ruth,  my 


118  AZARIAN. 

love,  tell  me  all  about  it,  all  that  has  happened 
since,  —  since  we  came  here,  for  instance." 

Was  it  possible  that  that  old  intelligence 
was  returning  ?  thai  the  passivity,  the  trance, 
would  pass,  and  her  father  be  again  the  strong, 
bright  man  of  plans  and  hopes,  such  as  once 
he  was  when  with  stalwart  form  and  nervous 
limb  he  carried  his  child  along  the  fields, 
leaping  the  brooks,  and  snapping  off  broad 
branches  for  her  parasol,  —  so  much  do  we 
connect  mental  with  bodily  vigor !  Ruth's 
trembling  hope  burned  in  her  cheeks  and 
dried  her  tears  like  fire.  She  sat  on  the  arm 
of  his  chair,  and  repeated  the  little  story  with 
a  caress  for  every  period.  She  told  him  of 
her  work,  of  her  happiness,  of  her  love,  even 
of  that  day  when  first  Azarian  had  claimed 
her  favor ;  but  she  breathed  nothing  of  neglect, 
of  selfish  pleasure,  of  tears,  or  of  repining. 
For  though  Ruth  might  feel,  she  would  not 
as  yet  reflect.  Yet  perhaps  that  which  she 


AZARIAN.  119 

did  not  say  her  father's  awakening  power 
divined. 

"  But  you  have  spoken  no  word  of  Cliar- 
mian,"  said  he,  his  own  remembrance  all  alit. 

"  Charmian  does  not. come  here  any  more." 

" Ah,  child !  I  see  it  all,  I  see  it  all. 

And  yet  her  love  was  best !  " 

Ruth  shivered  at  the  thought.  Had  her 
father  woke  simply  to  tell  her  this  ?  She 
could  not  believe  it,  though  one  came  back 
from  the  dead. 

"  And  where  did  you  say  Azarian  was  ?  I 
must  see  him  first,  I  must  tell  him  to  be 
tender  of  my  child  before  I  go." 

"Go  where,  dear  father?"  asked  Ruth, 
with  -a  hasty  pang,  bringing  in  her  glance 
from  the  evening-star  that  glimmered  through 
a  long  wreath  of  roseate  vapor.  "  You  are 
not  going  anywhere  ?  You  will  not  leave 
me?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  for  a  little  while.     Only  a  little 


120  AZARIAN. 

while. You  spoke  of  the  money  saved, 

and  said  it  was  for  me,  my  love, — you  don't 
regret  ?  " 

Ruth  laughed,  —  though  something  made 
it  hurt  her,  —  all  that  was  so  entirely  his. 

"  Not  but  that  I  shall  repay  the  sum,  a 
thousand  fold,  a  thousand  fold,  my  dear ! 
You  shall  ride  in  your  carriage,  your  path 
to  it  shall  be  carpeted  with  cloth  of  gold. 
Nobody's  affection  will  toss  you  off  when  you 
have  the  soft  lap  of  wealth  to  fall  into.  Money 
is  the  measure  of  the  world,  to  it  wit,  genius, 
power,  fame,  all  are  transferable;  a  man's 
possession  of  it  is  the  gauge  of  his  real  worth. 
Yes,  yes,  Ruth,  your  name  shall  yet  weigh 
down  a  million  !  " 

"  Dear,  dear  father,  we  are  so  much  happier 
as  we  are !  Be  still,  dear ;  put  your  head  on 
my  shoulder  and  let  me  sing  to  you  your  old 
tunes." 

"Yes,  Ruth.     I  am  going  away  for  a  little 


A  Z  ART  AN.  121 

while,  —  to  that  bright  country  'men  talked 
of  when  I  fell  ill,  where,  as  they  say,  the 
streets  are  paved  with,  gold  and  precious- 
stones."  But  there  a  news-boy  cried  in  the 
square, — seldom  thing,  —  and  he  sent  her  for 
a  paper. 

Ruth  obeyed,  only  that  she  dared  not 
thwart  him ;  and,  re-entering,  unfolded  the 
sheet,  seeking  for  the  place  he  wished.  As 
she  did  so,  holding  the  paper  to  the  late  light, 
an  announcement  caught  her  eye  and  sent  the 
color  up  and  down  her  face,  an  announcement 
concerning  the  stock  in  which,  by  Azarian's 
advice,  all  her  little  investment  had  been 
made. 

"  Dear  father,"  said  she,  "  it  is  getting 
so  dark"  — 

"What  time  do  they  sail,  Ruth?  Here, 
give  me  the  paper  ! " 

"  The  first  and  twentieth,  I "  — 

"  And  what  day  is  this  ?  " 

6 


122  AZARIAN. 

«  The  thirty-first,  —  but  "  — 

"  To-morrow !  I  shall  no  more  than  reach 
the  boat  if  I  take  the  night  train.  You  must 
draw  the  money  at  once,  Ruth  ! " 

"  It  is,"  said  she,  with  hesitation,  "  after 
business-hours." 

"Never  mind,  I  can  easily  negotiate  your 
certificates ;  give  them  to  me  now,  my  love, 
and  throw  some  things  together  in  my  port- 
manteau. Call  a  coach.  It  is  all  for  you, 
sweet,  all  for  you.  Little  one,  my  pretty  one, 
when  I  come  home  I  will  hang  a  diamond 
on  your  forehead  that  shall  blaze  like  that 
star  up  there  in  Heaven ! " 

He  lifted  his  tall  and  slender  frame,  quiver- 
ing in  excitement,  looking  forward,  and  reck- 
oning rapidly  his  dazzling  dreams.  What 
should  she  do? 

"Dear  father,"  she  said,  reaching  up  to 
wind  her  arms  about  his  shoulder,  "  remember 
how  happy  we  have  been.  We  do  not  need 


AZARIAN.  123 

anything  more.  If  we  did,  Azarian  would 
give  it  to  us.  Remember  —  when  I  tell  you 
something  —  that  we  have  peace  and  praise 
and-  plenty." 

"  When  you  tell  me  what  ? "  turning  his 
face  sharply  upon  her. 

"  Something  I  saw  just  now  in  the  paper,  — 
about  where  our  money  was.  The  place  has 
failed.  There  is  n't  any  money  there.  But 
we  shall  never  "  — 

There  was  110  need  to  continue ;  the  weight 
•  upon  her  arm  was  growing  heavier,  the  tall 
and  slender  frame  sank  back  into  the  chair,  — 
Mr.  Yetton's  heart  was  broken.  He  spoke 
no  more,  but  kissed  his  child  with  a  gasping 
sob,  and,  drifting  through  the  night,  was  lost, 
when  morning  came,  in  eternity.  Still  there, 
but  beyond  her  sight. 

Poor  little  Ruth  did  not  know  how  to  be 
calm ;  long  trial  had  abused  her  strength,  all 


124  AZARIAN. 

her  power  of  repression  was  gone,  all  her 
sorrow  fell  upon  her  at  once.  She  lay  with 
her  face  where  his  heart  had  been  wont  to 
beat,  as  if  she  would  warm  it  into  life  again 
with  her  kisses  and  her  wild  bursts  of  weep- 
ing. She  called  to  him,  as  if  she  "could  not 
speak  and  he  refuse  to  hear,  and,  every  time, 
the  white  mute  awfulncss  struck  like  cold 
steel  to  her  soul.  He  must  stir,  must  smile ; 
it  was  impossible,  she  cried  out,  that  he  would 
not  turn  and  look  in  her  eyes ;  when  a  little 
breeze  blew  in  and  lifted  the  fine  gray  hair 
from  his  brow,  she  thought  to  feel  his  breath 
upon  her  cheek,  —  but  there  was  only  the 
marble  silence,  the  impassible  repose.  To 
her  hand,  there  was  nothing  but  chill ;  to 
her  entreaties,  the  flinty  outline  sealed  in  frost, 
the  impress  of  unchangeable  Fate.  A  wail  of 
despair  left  her  lips  as  she  shuddered  down 
beside  him  again.  It  seemed  to  her  that  this 
was  all  she  had,  and  this  was  gone.  Three 


j 
I 

AZARIAN.  125 

noons,  three  nights,  then  the  green  sods  cov- 
ered him  and  she  was  alone  at  last. 

They  were  dark  days  that  followed,  life 
seemed  too  heavy  to  bear.  She  remembered 
how  she  had  driven  with  Azarian  in  the  wintry 
sunset  and  seen  the  snow  upon  the  graves, 
she  thought  with  an  agony  of  pity  of  Jho 
bleak  lonely  winds  blowing  over  them,  of 
the  cruel  sleet  that  would  so  soon  beat  above 
the  dear  old  form.  She  would  cheat  herself 
into  believing  him  in  his  chair,  and,  turning, 
find  it  vacant,  and  bury  her  face  there  as  if 
it  were  his  loving  breast  again.  She  would 
never  feel  those  slender  hands  about  her  neck 
any  more,  she  would  never  hear  that  voice, 
never  look  in  that  pathetic  face ;  she  had  not 
made  his  life  so  happy  as  she  might,  and 
now  she  could  never  do  another  thing  for 
him,  —  never,  —  and  with  the  terrible  word 
her  soul  dashed  up  against  the  immutable 
boundaries.  She  was  so  cold,  so  bruised, 


^ 

\ 


126  AZARIAN.. 

so  lonely,  —  some  human  help  and  love  she 
wanted,  some  touch,  —  where  were  Azarian's 
arms  ?  If  he  could  only  feel  her  sorrow,  he 
might  care  for  her  as  once,  hold  her  in  the 
old  way,  comfort  her.  A  bitter  instinct  told 
her  that,  with  all  his  skill,  he  should  have 
known  this  might  come  at  any  time,  and  not 
have  left  her  to  meet  its  force  alone,  to  strug- 
gle with  its  succeeding  horror,  to  Jet  Death 
drop  the  folds  of  his  mighty  pall  upon  her 
and  shut  out  the  light  of  the  world.  She 
remembered  those  recent  vigils,  remembered 
them  in  the  midst  of  her  grief,  with  a  terror 
that  she  had  not  felt  in  enduring  them, — 
that  icy  sculptured  fixity  beneath  all  the  gusty 
sway  of  snowy  drapery  in  the  wind  from  the 
open  casement.  Lying  there  alone,  utterly 
weak  and  unnerved  in  the  long  blackness  of 
the  moonless  nights,  she  felt  as  if  the  fearful 
work,  when  the  face  indurates  beneath  the 
stony  palm  while  the  soul  is  drawn  away> 


AZARIAN.   '  127 

were  being  done  on  her;  all  manner  of  ghastly 
fancies  oppressed  her  brain,  .a  weight  like 
cold  lead  within  beat  out  her  pulse  slowly, 
the  tears  brimmed  and  overflowed,  a  ceaseless 
sourceless  rain ;  to  her  ken  there  was  no  life, 
no  immortality,  no  power  in  the  wide  uni- 
verse but  death,  and  death  was  immitigable 
horror.  There  had  always  been  for  Ruth  a 
degree  of  uncertain  awe  about  the  dark,  as 
of  something  unknown,  unformed,  incompre- 
hensible, incommensurate.  She  had  never  felt 
its  spiritual  analogy  till  now,  now  when  it 
brought  with  it  the  bitter  need  of  some  -al- 
mighty stay,  and  just  as  reason  might  have 
yielded  to  the  shadows  encompassing  both 
soul  and  body,  out  of  their  heart  came  help, 
and  she  found  this  darkness  of  the  grave 
brooding  thick  with  mercies.  The  little  bird 
that  fluttered  from  the  night-storm  through 
the  Northumbrian  king's  banqueting-hall, 
while  the  firelight  bickered  in  the  purple 


128  '     AZARIAN. 

bowls  of  wine  and  flung  his  shadow  at  the 
shields  upon  the  wall,  flew  from  the  warmth 
and  light  and  cheer  out  at  the  other  door, 

"  Into  the  darkness  awful  and  divine." 

Divine,  instinct  with  possible  deity,  for  it  is 
written  He  made  darkness  his  secret  place. 
And  so  when  the  terrors  of  hell  had  got  hold 

upon  her,  Ruth  turned  and  prayed,  and  at  her 

• 
prayer  a  white  calm  peace  gathered  and  rose 

from  the  shadows,  and  fell  upon  her  heart  and 
her  eyes  like  dew. 

Sometimes  now  she  stole  abroad,  when  the 
evening  came,  and  into  a  church  at  hand, 
where  she  heard  the  organ  pealing,  —  a  silent 
worshipper  came  in,  a  silent  one  went  out, 
a  penitent  knelt  motionless  at  the  altar,  an- 
other at  the  confessional ;  one  burner  shed 
a  peaceful  twilight  over  lofty  arch  and  clus- 
tered column,  dying  dimly  down  the  aisles 
and  in  the  recesses  of  the  chancel ;  a  solemn 


AZARIAN.  129 

quiet  reigned  below,  —  and  above,  the  voices 
of  the  practising  choir  soared  in  ecstatic  music 
along  the  organ's  golden  blare.  And  Ruth 
stood  there  in  the  obscurity  with  folded  hands 
and  pale  face,  looking  up  the  dark  vaulted 
roof,  and  tried  to  raise  her  soul  into  sympa- 
thy with  the  place,  to  make  it  fit  for  heavenly 
love,  —  tried  to  find  God  in  his  world,  —  the 
God  who  had  given  her  peace.  She  knew 
in  herself  that  the  vast  Spirit  which  feeds  the 
universe  is  beneficent  as  powerful;  she  dared 
to  trust  in  the  force  that  wound  the  stars 
upon  their  courses  and  shaped  the  petals  of 
the  flower;  the  care  that  surrounded  insect 
and  root  would  not  be  less  kind  to  her.  All 
things  were  best,  she  said,  whether  she  ceased 
upon  the  idle  air  and  was  not,  or  whether 
she  drew  nearer  the  infinite  depths  of  love, 
a  pure  existence  mounting  on  endless  seons. 
She  felt  how  one  had  drawn  her  out  of  deep 
waters;  thankfully  she  loved  him,  desired  to 

6*  .  I 


130  AZARIAN. 

find  him,  to  worship  him,  and  lay  her  tribute 

• 

at  his  feet.  Her  fears  had  fled  away,  and 
though  the  sight  of  some  worn  garment 
would  bring  the  hungry  heart  to  her  lips, 
and  some  memory  cause  the  trembling  tears 
to  fall,  her  very  grief  was  purified.  It  had 
brought  her  towards  a  world  she  had  never 
known,  —  already,  to  her  hopes,  the  heavenly 
door  flew  open  at  a  touch,  and  angels  drew 
her  in. 

As  the  days  crept  by  now,  Ruth  began  to 
long  for  Azarian's  return,  with  fresh  eager- 
ness ;  she  needed  his  presence  so  much,  his 
sympathy,  his  solace ;  she  wished  to  impart  to 
him  this  new  experience,  this  glorious  antici- 
pation and  confidence,  to  learn  if  any  other 
human  being  had  ever  felt  the  same.  How- 
ever, he^  was  not  to  come  till  September,  so 
she  schooled  her  heart  to  patience.  But  one 
morning  that  heart  kept  stirring  with  such  a 


AZARIAN.  131 

wild  insistance,  that  she  felt  as  if  he  must  be 
near,  yet  could  not  believe  it  to  be  anything 
but  a  dream,  when  the  door  opened  and  a 
face  laughed  in  upon  her,  Azarian's  face, 
though  somewhat  browned,  a  trifle  ruddy,  the 
thoroughly  healthy  work  of  sun  and  wind. 
So  she  sat  there  a  moment,  changed  and  pale 
in  her  little  black  gown,  and  gazing  up  at 
him  with  her  always  darkly  mournful  eyes, 
eyes  as  full  of  pathos  as  those  of  some  dumb 
thing,  which  seem  to  express  the  sorrow  of  a 
silent  soul,  —  then  she  sprang  and  cried  upon 
his  arm. 

The  reception  hardly  accorded  with  Aza- 
rian's desires,  —  especially  as  behind  him  there 
brushed  a  rustle  of  silk.  He  saw  at  once 
that  it  had  been  an  error  not  to  come  first 
alone ;  but  he  made  the  best  of  it,  brought 
Ruth  to  herself  with  a  word,  and  presented 
her  to  Madame  Saratov,  a  Russian  lady  who 
had  known  his  father,  and  whom  he  had  acci- 


132  AZARIAN. 

dentally  found  upon  the  Arabia  when,  heartily 
tired  of  the  fishing-smack  and  its  discomforts, 
he  had  made  his  way  to  Halifax  and  caught 
the  steamer. 

Madame  Saratov  was  perhaps  Azarian's  age 
once  and  a  half  again;  but  in  her  fair  hair 
that  betrayed  no  change,  her  complexion  like 
snow  over  which  a  rosy  vapor  drifts,  and  all 
her  patrician  preservation,  she  gave  no  sign  of 
years.  For  the  rest,  she  was  beautiful, — 
beautiful  to  Ruth  as  a  mother  might  have 
been,  with  a  bland  beatific  countenance, — 
beautiful  to  Azarian  as,  if  he  had  not  been 
overcome  against  his  will  by  another,  he  would 
have  chosen  a  lady-love  to  be,  with  a  capti- 
vating charm  of  manner,  with  a  voice  that 
played  freely  in  a  range  of  dulcet  tones  and 
discords,  with  a  sparkle  of  wicked  wit  and 
mischievous  meanings  here,  with  a  strain  of 
mystical  piety  there,  with  a  character  whose 
solution  presented  to  him  analytic  pleasure. 


AZARIAN.  133 

Madame  Saratov  was  a  woman,  in  fact,  like 
a  faceted  jewel ;  and  if  she  was  not  all  things 
to  all  men,  she  was  certainly  capable  of  being 
a  great  many  things  to  one  man.  Having 
accompanied  her  husband  in  exile  until  his 
death,  her  present  purpose  was  to  give  lessons 
in  French,  in  music,  in  her  own  language, 
in  anything,  and  her  ultimate  object  the  edu- 
cation of  her  two  boys,  whom  she  had  dis- 
missed to  school,  having  brought  them  to 
America  for  a  career.  Nothing  was  more 
pleasing  to  Azarian  than,  for  the  while,  to 
consider  Madame  Saratov  as  his  prot<?g£e,  to 
put  high  price  on  her  services  and  barriers 
about  her  acquaintance,  to  make  her  the 
fashion,  and,  in  his  own  way,  to  take  advan- 
tage of  his  position.  Miss  Yetton  of  course 
was  to  be  a  pupil,  —  poor  Ruth,  who  was  an 
ignorant  little  body  and  had  small  knowledge 
or  expression  beyond  her  pretty  art,  —  and 
therefore  he  had  gayly  brought  them  together 


134  AZARIAN. 

without  ceremony.  Madame  Saratov's  tact 
was,  however,  superior  to  the  situation,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  she  made  her  appointment, 
and,  going,  gave  the  thin  hand  so  warm  and 
full  a  pressure  that  Ruth  felt  with  a  thrill 
how  precious  some  womanly  companionship 
might  be  if  Azarian  would  allow  it. 

Azarian  returned  in  the  evening,  and  was 
so  genial  and  tender  as  to  make  Ruth  abso- 
lutely cheerful.  He  expressed  much  concern 
about  her  loss,  though  none  that  he  had  been 
absent,  uttering  now  and  then  some  dark  diag- 
nostic word ;  and  when  his  manner  of  listening 
became  slightly,  ever  so  slightly,  indifferent, 
she  fancied  he  thought.it  injurious  for  her 
to  brood  over  the  subject,  and  hastened  to 
reassure  him,  and  tell  her  inner  half-confirmed 
joy,  and  all  its  source.  But  at  the  onset 
Azarian  gave  a  great  shrug,  got  up  and  walked 
across  the  room,  and,  taking  his  violin,  began 
to  tune  it. 


AZARIAN.  135 

"  Pur !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  the  cat  is  gray ! " 

However,  in  a  minute  he  laid  down  the 
instrument  without  playing,  and  was  by  her 
side  again.  But  this  was  all  the  life  Ruth 
had  lived  of  late,  and  she  had  nothing  else 
to  tell. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  understood  it,"  said  she 
in  her  disappointment.  "  I  wish  I  knew  how 
to  talk  and  make  it  seem  real  to  you ! " 

"Little  Whimsy,  it  is  just  as  real  to  me 
now  as  ever  I  want  it  to  be.  If  you  're  go- 
ing to  be  a  nun,  why  you  may  take  the  veil. 
Oh  — the  cold  shoulder!" 

But,  with  a  pretty  light  in  her  eye,  Ruth 
had  to  laugh  back  at  him  across  the  offending 
member,  —  he  had  resigned  himself  to  it  so 
composedly  among  the  cushions. 

"No,"  said  she,  —  "  only  if  you  would  care 
a  little,  the  least  little,  about  such  things." 

"What!  The  new  love  is  the  cuckoo  to 
turn  the  old  out  of  the  nest  ? " 


136  AZARIAN. 

"0  Azarian!" 

"Now,  Ruth,  don't  try  that  fashion.  Try 
forever  and  you  can't  make  yourself  more 
charming  to  me  than  you  were  when  I  first 
knew  you." 

"  Than  I  was  ?  "  with  a  shy  archness. 

"There!  Than  you  are!  So  don't  affect 
airs  nor  put  on  this  little  mask  for  the  sake  of 
being  interesting.  You  were  n't  brought  up 
in  it,  you  have  n't  a  moonstone  rosary  blessed 
by  the  Pope  or  the  Patriarch,  as  Madame  Sara- 
tov has,  you  have  n't  an  ivory  and  ebony 
crucifix  mounted  on  jewels ;  and  I  advise 
you,  if  you  want  to  preserve  my  affection,  to 
remain  rational,  for,  frankly,  you  couldn't 
bore  me  more  than  by  playing  the  Guyon, 
for  which  Nature  never  intended  you ! " 

Years  afterward,  Azarian  used  to  see  the 
mournful  glance  of  those  dark  eyes  rising 
like  a  spectre  in  his  wine-glass  in  the  ashes, 
behind  the  empty  window-pane  when  the  night 


AZARIAN.  137 

had  fallen.*  Here  it  only  impressed  him  as 
something  quite  exquisite,  and  he  reached  his 
hand  for  hers.  Ruth  gave  him  her  hand,  and 
in  a  minute  she  replied. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  misunderstand  me 
so,  because  I  am  afraid  that  you  will  not  love 
me  long  if  you  think  I  could  counterfeit  such 
a  solemn  thing  even  in  order  to  interest  you." 

"  I  don't  think  you  could  counterfeit  any- 
thing. Now  come  kiss  me,  and  let  it  all 


"But,  Azarian  dear,  I  should  think  you 
would  like  to  have  my  confidence." 

"  Not  when  it 's  silly.  I  don't  want  to  be 
made  a  fool  of.  Give  me  my  violin,  Ruth, 
an'  thou  lovest  me.  Now  the  Tourterelle. 
And  you  shall  have  a  Fantasie  Glaciale ! " 
And  under  his  strains,  that  shaped  themselves 
with  a  kind  of  weird  crispness,  Ruth's  fancy 
suffered  her  to  see  the  icebergs  building  their 
glittering  architecture  of  frosty  peaks  and 


138  AZARIAN. 

pinnacles  up  the  blue  vault,  till  suddenly  all 
was  grotesquely  ended  by  the  interpolation  of 
a  little  phrase  in  another  measure,  a  pair  of 
chasing  scales,  that  brought  everything  up 
standing  with  a  twang.  Azarian  laughed  with 
his  white  teeth. 

"  That  was  two  little  cubs  tumbling  down 
after  the  mother,"  said  he,  "  who  snapped  her" 
jaws  at  me.  Strictly  pictorial  music,  good 
for  the  critics.  Now,  to  farewells." 


III. 

SINCE  Azarian  was  at  home  again,  Ruth 
forgot  all  the  weary  watching  of  June  and 
prepared  herself  to  be  happy.  Certain  hours 
of  the  day  she  worked  with  her  paints,  and 
worked  for  money  too,  as  -all  she  had  was 
gone  ;  later,  she  fagged  over  her  books,  for  she 
feared,  of  all  things,  by  her  stupidity  to  do 
discredit  to  Azarian's  choice  before  the  Rus- 
sian lady.  Then  in  the  long  summer  evenings 
she  sat  with  happy  fancies,  if  she  had  them, 
alone,  if  she  had  them  not,  for,  to  spare  both 
her  eyes  and  her  candles,  she  lit  no  light  un- 
less thought  and  solitude  became  insupport- 
able ;  and  she  had  said  to  herself  that  she  had 
been  very  selfish,  and  that  with  all  his  social 
claims  she  had  no  right  to  expect  Azarian  on 


140  AZARIAN. 

more  than  two  evenings  in  the  week,  and  had 
told  him  so.  However,  Azarian  ran  in  when 
he  pleased,  reported  any  piece  of  news,  ad- 
mired her  work,  said  she  was  getting  a  color, 
played  some  air  on  his  violin,  said  he  kissed 
her  hands.  Or,  on  the  contrary,  if  she 
were  not  there,  he  left  some  little  imp  sitting 
astride  her  delicately-drawn  grass-spires,  or 
ringing  the  chime  out  of  the  fairy  bells  of  her 
Linna3a,  or  he  turned  her  painted  snowdrop 
into  a  plump  wasp  bleached  for  bridal,  —  as  a 
card ;  after  which,  of  course,  such  things  — 
when  found  with  a  little  pang  of  regret  at  her 
absence,  and  well  paid  for  by  the  loss  of  the 
next  day's  airing  —  were  too  precious  to  part 
with,  if  they  had  not,  moreover,  been  spoiled. 
That  made  small  odds  though,  for,  famous  as 
they  had  become,  Ruth  could  not  dispose  of 
half  she  did ;  —  the  year  had  been  a  disastrous 
one,  the  summer  was  very  slow,  a  financial 
flurry  was  impending,  and  nobody  had  the 
price  to  waste  on  kickshaws. 


A  Z  All  I  AN.  141 

But  it  somehow  happened  that  Azarian  did 
not  always  come  on  those  two  evenings  ap- 
pointed ;  —  either  Madame  Saratov  had  some 
fine  circle,  or  it  was  the  club,  or  the  old  se- 
ductions of  the  boat  were  uppermost  again. 
Ruth,  who  had  grown  to  count  upon  them  at 
least,  and  who  sometimes  felt  as  if  she  required 
his  presence  so  much  that  she  must  go  out 
and  seek  him,  waited  till  the  clock  struck 
midnight,  in  hopes  of  just  a  brief  moment  as 
he  passed,  yet  waited  in  vain.  Strange  appre- 
hensions beset  her  too,  as  she  fancied  him  on 
the  water  at  such  times,  fancied  the  keel  of 
some  plunging  ship  crushing  down  his  little 
cockleshell  of  a  boat  in  the  dark,  or  when  the 
thunder-storms  had  been  rolling  and  rattling 
over  the  city,  or  when  sudden  flaws  of  wind 
came  down  and  wildly  rustled  all  the  trees 
upon  the  square  and  sent  the  dust  to  heaven. 
Once,  indeed,  having  some  special  promise  that 
she  could  not  dream  of  his  breaking,  and  her 


142  A  Z  ASIAN. 

imagination  all  athrob  and  fevered  with  fear, 
she  caught  a  scarf  or  shawl  and  ran  out  into 
the  black  hot  night,  meaning  to  make  the 
water's  edge ;  when  suddenly,  under  the  shine 
of  a  street-lamp,  she  fell  upon  him  sauntering 
along.  And  then,  to  prevent  any  such  second 
interference,  Azarian  punishingly  declined  to 
enter,  and  left  her  at  the  door.  But  here  this 
state  of  feeling  wrought  an  unconscious  at- 
traction ;  her  sadness  was  so  great  at  his  volun- 
tary delays  over  greater  pleasure  found  with 
others,  her  expectation  so  strained  and  eager, 
that,  when  he  did  come,  her  spirits  mounted  to 
such  a  pitch  of  airy  volatile  gayety,  forever 
rounded  by  the  least  shadowy  refrain  of  the 
preceding  hour,  that  her.  presence  became  an 
enchantment ;  he  watched  their  wavering  as 
one  watches  a  flame  flickering  in  the  wind, 
and  not  till  he  had  discovered  their  secret  was 
the  fascination  lost. 

Ruth's  lessons   at   this  time  were   a  great 


AZARIAN.  143 

blessing ;  she  left  thought  in  them,  and  was 
hindered  from  reflecting  upon  how  slight  and 
loose  a  thing  this  love  of  Azariaii's  was.  As 
he  had  foreseen,  the  Baroness  Saratov  became 
an  object  of  far  more  interest  than  her  posi- 
tion warranted,  through  the  well-known  weak- 
ness of  many  people  ;  a  teacher,  every  one 
desired  to  avail  themselves  of  her  services  ;  a 
lady,  every  one  aspired  to  her  intimacy.  She 
rented  one  floor  of  a  small  house.  Her  rooms 
were  as  cosey  as  any  nest,  and  yet  made  ele- 
gant with  countless  trifles  which  had  cost  her 
less  than  nothing.  To-day  under  her  spell, 
a  painting,  with  its  palm-tree  and  pool  and 
gorgeous  sky,  was  hung  there  by  a  young 
artist  who  just  began  to  dip  his  brush  in 
wells  of  tropic  color ;  to-morrow  a  pupil  who 
wished  to  do  her  pleasure  begged  acceptance 
of  an  album  of  the  photographs  of  precious 
places  in  Europe  ;  yesterday  a  publisher  had 
presented  her  with  his  choicest  volumes ;  she 


144  AZARIAN. 

had  nothing  to  do  but  dispose  them.  That 
little  gem,  where  one  long  ripple  of  green 
water  broke  on  a  curving  beach,  Marine  had 
sent  her,  when  after  her  extravagant  admira- 
tion it  yet  found  no  purchaser;  that  bust 
Carrara  had  given  in  Rome,  fresh  from  his 
chisel,  —  she  had  procured  him  a  commission. 
An  open  pianoforte  here,  a  half-veiled  easel 
there,  the  single  blossom  of  some  rare  exotic 
daily  renewed  in  a  snowy  vase-stem,  all  con- 
spired to  produce  dainty  effect ;  and  through- 
out, there  was  a  stroke,  an  art,  a  sense  of 
something  foreign,  that  completed  the  charm, 
whether  it  were  in  the  flask  of  delicate  per- 
fume forever  exhaling  to  the  air;  the  quaint 
ornaments,  —  a  demo\selle-fly  in  such  bril- 
liantly enamelled  metal  that  the  sardonyx,  the 
smaragdite,  the  sapphire,  seemed  to  sheathe 
its  mail,  its  wings  so  fine  and  airy  ever  hover- 
ing on  the  point  of  flight,  yet  with  gravity 
sufficient  for  a  paper-weight ;  a  little  basket 


AZARIAN.  145 

of  snowy  lightness  cut  from  the  fig-pith  and 
filled  with  grasses,  wheat-ears,  thorns,  and 
leaves,  of  the  same  dazzlingly  delicate  fibre, 
and  looking  all  like  one  exquisite  petrifaction, 
for  allumettes  ;  for  timepiece  a  tiny  clepsy- 
dra, dug  from  an  ancient  ruin,  thousands  of 
years  ago  measuring  the  inspirations  of  the 
oracle,  the  winning  moment  of  the  lampad, 
the  passionate  greeting  and  parting  of  lovers 
long  since  dust,  the  smile  of  Rhodope  per- 
haps, perhaps  the  vagrant  song  of  Homer ;  — 
the  folding-screen  of  rosy  damask ;  or  the  occu- 
pancy. Madame  Saratov  was  the  creature  of 
luxury,  she  demanded,  and  therefore  had,  the 
best  of  everything.  A  faithful  maid  haunted 
her  steps ;  her  chosen  raiment  was  silks  and 
velvets  ;  she  suffered  from  unpleasant  dreams 
if  the  coverlet  were  less  than  satin  ;  she  was 
always  soft  and  white  and  cool ;  her  hands 
were  still  as  beautiful  as  that  model  of  them 
that  peered  from  behind  the  droop  of  the  cur- 


146  A  Z  AUI AN. 

tain ;  she  had  kept  her  jewels  through  every 
reverse,  and  the  very  thimble  with  which  she 
stitched  the  vine  upon  her  cambric  was  thick 
crusted  at  the  base  with  pearls.  She  had  not 
been  in  town  two  months  before  she  was  on 
more  familiar  terms  with  every  notable  person 
than  were  those  who  had  known  them  all 
their  days ;  the  politician  came  to  her  with 
his  schemes  and  benefited  by  her  tact ;  the 
star  requested  her  reading  of  some  passage, 
her  tradition  of  some  gesture,  her  idea  of 
some  point ;  the  preacher  talked  with  her, 
and  in  her  vein  of  rapt  pietic  ecstasy  almost 
expected  to  see  her  translated  before  his  eyes, 
and  dropped  his  blessing  on  her  bended  head  ; 
and  in  the  warm  shadows  of  her  room,  breath- 
ing the  subtile  odors,  and  sipping  perhaps, 
between  whiles,  draughts  of  some  richly-rosy 
perfumed  cordial,  the  poet  read  his  verses, 
and  went  away  intoxicated  with  them,  with 
her,  and  with  himself.  It  was  especially 


AZARIAN.  147 

pleasant  to  Azarian  to  come  and  go,  among  all 
these  more  deferential,  as  autocratically  as  he 
pleased.  She  had  a  trick,  too,  of  surprising 
her  late-lingering  company  with  little  suppers, 
ravishing  revels,  when  from  tiny  engraven 
bubbles  of  glass  she  drank  to  the  health  of 
her  charming  guests,  in  maraschino ;  there 
was  a  flavor  in  the  unknown  dishes  that  made 
it  possible  to  believe  one  ate  the  famous  tart 
of  pomegranates  ;  and  if  the  feast  consisted 
of  nothing  but  sliced  oranges,  they  lay  under 
their  crystals  of  sugar  in  plates  whose  ruby 
whorls  or  azure  banqueted  the  eye.  There 
was  a  silent  kinship  of  race  between  Azarian 
and  Madame  Saratov ;  in  her  he  found  that 
certain  genial  dash  of  foreign  things  which 
inheritance  made  delicious  to  his  nature.  In 
all  her  style,  too,  there  was  a  saucy  disregard 
of  any  future  day  of  reckoning,  a  thing  that 
suited  him  as  well.  These  little  suppers 
absorbed  many  an  evening  that  by  rfght 


148  AZARIAN. 

belonged  to  Ruth.  It  amused  him,  then, 
sometimes  to  accompany  Ruth  at  her  recita- 
tions, to  contrast  the  two,  to  play  them  off, 
Madame  Saratov  humoring  him,  the  other 
shrinking  into  herself;  and  if  he  chose  to 
stay  the  hour,  of  course  poor  little  Ruth,  un- 
der his  presence,  made  a  very  dunce  of  her- 
self, though  preferring  even  such  display  and 
pain,  so  seldom  of  late  did  she  see  him  at 
all.  Spiritless  girl,  not  to  throw  him  off,  and 
when  the  pique  was  past  weep  lifelong  soli- 
tary tears  or  else  harden  her  heart  to  stone  ! 
But  Ruth  had  not  thought  of  that  yet,  so  she 
endured  his  demure  scoffs  and  laughed  up  at 
him  beseechingly  when  the  failure  was  egre- 
gious. Stepping  into  Madame  Saratov's  salon 
was,  to  Ruth,  like  an  emigration  to  a  distant 
country  ;  she  could  scarcely  blame  her  lover 
for  delaying  where  it  was  in  fact  so  delightful 
to  herself ;  she  coveted  a  fragment  only  of  the 
other's  versatility,  but  she  saw  plainly  that 


AZARIAN.  149 

the  foreign  lady  was  not  the  friend  her  sore 
heart  needed.  Yet  Madame  Saratov  liked 
Ruth,  she  was  so  fresh  and  simple ;  it  was 
holding  a  wild-flower  in  her  hand ;  she  took 
pains  to  draw  her  out  of  herself,  she  refused 
others  that  Ruth  might  dally  with  her  awhile, 
she  helped  her  by  severe  criticism  and  glad 
praise,  and  she  began  to  puzzle  herself  in 
wonderment  over  her  engagement  to  so  self- 
ish and  graceless  a  scamp  as  Azarian.  She 
had  serious  thoughts  of  sprinkling  a  shower 
of  water-drops  in  her  face,  so  if  possible  to 
break  the  bewitchment.  Azarian  did  well 
enough  as  her  own  courtier ;  she  allowed  him 
certain  freedom  there  because  he  was  so  ad- 
mirable; but  she  told  him  one  day,  with  a 
laugh,  that  he  reminded  her  of  those  vam- 
pires who  grew  fat  sucking  the  heart's-juices 
of  young  maidens.  Azarian  drew  the  black 
brows  together  in  a  line  over  the  icy  pale- 
blue  brilliancy  of  his  lustrous  eyes,  lightened 


150  AZARIAN. 

once,  and  said  no  more.  Neither  did  Madame 
Saratov. 

Ruth  used  sometimes  to  wonder  now  in  the 
October  mornings,  as  she  faced  the  glass,  if 
Azarian  cared  less  for  her  because  she  was 
not  so  pretty  as  once,  —  for  Ruth  had  always 
liked  her  looks,  in  her  own  way,  —  she  was 
so  very  thin  and  pale,  and  had  such  shadows 
under  her  lashes,  and  her  cheeks  beginning 
to  seem  as  though  she  were  no  longer  young. 
Azarian  did  not  know  what  companion  came 
and  sat  daily  at  her  elbow  in  his  absences, 
making  her  brain  clearer,  her  ideas  purer, 
her  tints  more  vivid,  but  taking  slowly  in  re- 
turn the  tone  from  life, 

"Spare  Fast  that  oft  with  Gods  doth  diet," 

and  some  little  leaven  of  pride  had,  after  all, 
remained,  for  Ruth  never  told  him.  Watch- 
ing deep  into  night  for  one  who  did  not  come, 
the  late  hours,  the  excitement,  the  anxieties, 


AZARIAN.         •  151 

the  grief,  the  determination  against  murmur- 
ing, even  to  herself,  so  inward  as  to  be  un- 
known,—  all  had  their  effect  on  health,  and 
depression  was  settling  upon  her  anew,  that 
it  needed  but-  a  touch  to  fix.  She  feared  she 
was  going  to  die  and  leave  him ;  and  be- 
cause, when  truth  is  plainest  and  denies, 
hope  often  is  most  buoyant  and,  knocking  at 
heaven's  gate,  demands,  she  still  trusted  that 
a  day  would  come  when  all  his  old  desire 
of  her  would  renew  itself,  and  by  unspoken 
intuitions  she  recognized  his  need  of  her  sav- 
ing grace  at  last,  and  felt  her  capability  of  be- 
stowing it.  Nobody  else  will  ever  love  him  as 
I  do,  Ruth  thought ;  I  was  put  here  to  serve 
him;  if  I  should  leave  him,  there  would  be 
no  other  one  ;  when  he  comes  to  die,  he  will 
want  —  0  so  longingly!  —  a  breast  to  lean 
upon.  Perhaps  behind  that  there  was  the 
glimmering  thought  that  a  home  and  its  dear 
ties  and  sacrifices  would  yet  soften  him,  and 


152  AZARIAN. 

give  him  all  that  he  had  not ;  though,  con- 
sciously, she  would  not  acknowledge  in  her 
most  secret  soul  that  he  was-  not  already 
perfection.  But  the  very  fear,  the  dread  of 
forsaking  him  so,  leaving  him  loveless  in  the 
world,  forbade  her  indignation  to  usurp  her 
passion,  and  only  made  her  tenderer. 

But  here,  one  day,  Azarian  commented  on 
her  looks,  and  told  her  she  must  cease  her 
lessons.  Then  he  took  up  his  Guarnerius, 
and  scraped  a  great  yawn  across  the  strings. 

"  What  a  sleepy ! "  said  Ruth,  lightly. 
*'  One  would  think  you  sat  up  last  night  till 
the  clock  struck  eleven,  for  somebody." 

"  Nobody's  fault  but  her  own.  If  some- 
body's  not  here  by  nine,  he's  not  coming 
at  all,"  and  he  caressed  the  instrument  be- 
neath his  chin ;  for  he  loved  its  beauty  of 
outline,  its  supple  sides,  its  royal  varnish, 
and  its  sounding  soul.  "  Ruth,  have  you 
been  playing  on  my  fiddle  ?  " 


AZARIAN.  153 

"  No,  indeed  ;  you  play  enough  for  me.  I 
wish  —  " 

"Well,  little  —  but  you're  not  like  an 
elder  now,  you're  more  like  a  snowberry, — 
what  do  you  wish  ?  " 

"I  wish  —  you  wouldn't  play  all  the  time 
when  you  come  to  see  me,"  she  replied,  with 
a  courageous  coaxingness. 

"  So  you  don't  like  my  music?" 

"  Yes,  I  do.  0  very  much.  But  I  like 
you  better." 

"  Quite  adroit.  But  then,  seems  to  me, 
you  'd  like  me  to  take  my  pleasure.  Oh, 
it 's  because  I  don't  play  classical  music." 

"I  did  n't  know  that." 

"  But,  only  fancy,  every  note  I  utter  goes 
forth  and  becomes  a  portion  of  the  music 
of  the  spheres ;  and  when  the  great  com- 
posers in  their  trances  reach  up  among  the 
stars,  they  gather  these  very  strains  floating 
there  or  caught  in  the  glittering  web-work 

7* 


154  AZARIAN. 

of  the  orbits,  and  so  my  little  tunes  become 
parts  of  the  great  orchestral  harmonies  that 
they  strike  out  deathlessly.  Don't  you  see  ? " 

"  0  yes ;  but  "  — 

But  Azarian  silenced  her  with  a  kiss,  and 
then  another ;  for  he  really  cared  as  much 
for  her  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  care  for 
anybody  except  himself,  and  went  off  with 
his  fiddle  tucked  under  his  arm. 

One  chilly  twilight, — just  when  impatient 
feet  are  hurrying  home  to  lights  and  laugh- 
ter and  cheerful  glow  of  fires,  —  Ruth,  alone, 
wrapped  in  her  shawl,  was  startled  by  a  voice 
beneath  her  window,  —  for  minstrels  were  in- 
frequent in  the  square,  —  a  loud  clear  sweet 
soprano  voice,  that  absolutely  seemed  to  sparkle 
in  its  contact  with  the  frosty  air.  She  looked 
down,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  lingering  ruddy 
orange  discerned  a  group  beneath,  a  woman, 
hooded  in  a  black  kerchief,  and  clad  in  some 
fantastic  disarray  of  garment  that  displayed 


AZARIAN.  155 

an  ankle  shapely  under  all  its  slouching  ap- 
parel of  slipshod  foot-gear.  She  tossed  a  tam- 
bourine, and  sung  wild  songs  in  an  unknown 
tongue  full  of  soft  guttural  breathings.  At 
her  left,  in  round  jacket  and  red-tasselled  cap 
drooping  aside,  her  companion  surrounded  her 
lay  with  flourishes  of  tune  from  his  violin. 
Behind  them,  two  young  tatterdemalions  jan- 
gled strings  of  silver  bells  in  what  unison  they 
could.  Ruth  opened  her  window,  the  better 
to  hear  and  see,  and  leaned  forth.  The  strong 
full  voice  poured  in  richly,  and  the  player, 
bending  to  his  task,  sent  up  honeyed  strains 
of  accord,  the  jets  leaping  and  spurting  from 
the  strings  beneath  his  powerful  stroke.  In 
the  first  break,  Ruth  ventured  to  laugh  and 
gently  applaud  ;  then  Azarian,  who  had  con- 
cealed his  face,  looked  up,  with  a  flash  of 
his  teeth  in  response,  and  Madame  Saratov 
opened  a  pouch  and  displayed  a  glitter  of 
coin. 


156  AZARIAN. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts  ?  "  begged  she, 
in  her  alluring  accent.  "  It  is  a  charity  :  add 
your  mite,  pour  les  orphelins.  Then  come 
home  with  us  and  count  it." 

Azarian  was  looking.  Ruth  tossed  down 
her  silver,  though  it  was  the  very  last  she 

had.  To-morrow well,  to-morrow  must 

take  care  of  itself.  Providence  provides 
for  artists  and  authors  as  it  does  for  the 
birds  of  the  air.  Then  she  closed  the  win- 
dow, caught  up  her  bonnet  and  gloves  and 
ran  down  to  join  them,  and  went  along  posi- 
tively gay  with  the  adventure  and  with  the 
prospect  of  Azarian  all  the  evening  and  per- 
haps home  again  with  her.  Fast  at  their  heels 
the  young  vagabonds  followed,  jangling  their 


Entered,  and  under  the  glare  of  gas  and 
mirrors,  the  elder  twain  burst  into  laughing 
at  their  odd  figure,  and  the  younger  per- 
formed an  antic  dance  round  the  apartment, 


AZARIAN.  157 

with  all  kinds  of  quaint  and  graceful  gesture 
moving  to  the  wonderful  music  of  their  bells  ; 
after  which  Madame  Saratov  insisted  on  bivou- 
acking like  Gypsies  on  the  carpet  and  telling 
their  gains ;  and  then,  dismissing  Isa,  would 
wait  on  table  herself,  though  there  was  noth- 
ing but  a  cup  of  tea  and  some  cracknels, 
at  which,  to  Ruth's  perplexity,  they  were 
joined  by  the  urchins  in  their  rags,  who  were 
no  other  than  Messieurs  the  Barons  Saratov, 
she  discovered,  as  with  malicious  enjoyment 
of  her  silent  surprise  Azarian  presented  them 
to  her,  —  Azarian  full  of  his  freaks,  and  keep- 
ing up  his  character  by  snatches  of  music  be- 
tween the  sips,  now  and  then  telegraphing 
a  caress  to  Ruth  through  the  farther  end  of 
his  bow,  for  no  object  but  her  embarrass- 
ment. When,  however,  the  hostess  and  her 
young  train  withdrew,  she  half  hoped  he  would 
signify  some  real,  if  faint,  pleasure  at  her  so- 
ciety ;  Azarian  did,  indeed,  enjoy  it,  but  never 


158  AZARIAN. 

thought  of  telling  her  so.  On  the  contrary, 
Madame  Saratov  found  him,  as  she  had  left 
him,  industriously  sawing  away,  and  weaving 
her  Northern  melodies  into  some  Scandina- 
vian revery  of  Freya  of  the  golden  tears  seek- 
ing Oder  and  beguiling  all  her  way  with 
airs  of  heaven.  Azarian  looked  forward  to  a 
whole  lifetime  with  Ruth,  and  did  not  dream 
of  economizing  the  present.  Meanwhile  the 
young  gentlemen,  in  altered  guise  and  rai- 
ment, fresh  from  bath  and  toilet,  had  already 
stolen  back  ;  and,  looking  at  their  open  hand- 
some faces  where  the  noblest  marks  of  their 
vigorous  race  were  strongly  written,  Ruth's 
fancy  warmed  toward  them,  and  then,  after 
an  initial  period,  she  found  herself  in  a  low 
-voice  with  the  exaggerating  aids  of  free-play- 
ing eyebrow,  contrasting  attitudes  and  tones, 
recounting  to  them  a  laughable  legend  of  their 
own  trolls,  which  it  was  no  wonder  they  had 
never  heard,  as  it  was  purely  an  invention 


AZARIAN.  159 

of  Azarian's,  —  illustrating  it,  as  she  went 
along,  with  grotesque  hand-shadows  on  the 
wall,  and  with  a  mimicry  of  expression  that 
made  her,  in  speaking,  every  character  at  once. 
It  was  Azarian's  turn  now.  He  watched  her 
in  surprise.  If  he  did  not  frighten  her  out 
of  all  confidence,  what  a  treasure  was  this 
for  a  rainy  night !  The  boys,  who  were  at 
that  age  when  the  stature  seems  to  pause  to 
gather  strength  for  its  sudden  leaps  into  final 
maturity  of  size,  hung  on  her  words  at  first 
with  parted  lips,  remaining  motionless  through 
the  instinct  of  their  somewhat  courtly  man- 
ners, and  then  at  last,  the  barriers  of  a  flood 
of  merriment  giving  way,  rolled  over  each 
other  on  the  floor,  picking  themselves  up, 
with  profuse  apology,  as  their  mother's  hand 
was  heard  upon  the  door. 

"  Well,"  said  Azarian,  on  the  first  lady's 
return,  "  what  is  the  order  of  the  evening  ?  " 

"  Miss  Yetton  and  I  do  attend  the  theatre, 
—  alone,  —  unless  —  ?  " 


160  AZAPJAN. 

"  What  is  there  there  ?  " 

"  The  new  play  goes  to  present  itself,  and 
La  Charmian." 

"  Charmian  ?     Pshaw  !  " 

"  Let  me  tell  you  that  your  *  Pshaw ! '  is 
an  actress  very  remarkable." 

"Remarkably  bad,  yes." 

"  0  oui !  Mais  vraiment  oui !  Qu'il  parle  ! 
She  who  becomes  a  woman  of  the  most  fa- 
mous !  I  go  many  of  nights  to  see  her !  I 
count  of  my  enthusiasms  the  Charmian ! " 

"  Tant  pis  !  " 

"  So  you  will  not  go  ?  You  shall  have  but 
few  of  chances  more.  She  has  success ;  she 
goes  to  make  to  commence  an  engagement 
in  England  for  some  years  "  — 

"  Glory  go  with  her  !  " 

"That  it  will,  in  three  weeks.  And  you 
will  not  applaud  ?  " 

"  In  this  costume  ?  Pardon.  I  -will  be 
there  to  wait  upon  you,  with  permission." 


AZARIAN.  161 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing,"  she  laughed. 
"  Les  voila,  a  bodyguard  to  make  you  yawn  1 " 

"As  Madame  pleases,"  he  replied,  bending 
his  ear  to  catch  a  vanishing  semitone.  "Do 
you  want  to  go,  Ruth  ?  " 

Madame  Saratov,  instantly  outraged,  was 
instantly  appeased  by  the  novel  appearance 
of  consideration.  But  Madame  Saratov  was 
not  behind  the  scenes.  Ruth  had  hesitated 
at  the  proposal ;  little  heart  had  she  for  such 

gay  places ;  but  then  to  see .  She  nodded 

with  shining  eyes.  So  they  started  down  the 
bright  streets  on  their  long  wide  windy  way, 
Ruth's  hand  grasped  by  the  boy  Ivan,  of 
whom,  on  letting  them  out,  Isa,  indignant  at 
some  jest,  had  declared :  "  Such  a  child  was 
not  before  born  into  the  world.  His  tutor, 
in  vex,  do  report  that  he  laugh  all  the  time, 
and  when  he  don't  laugh,  he  gap  !  "  Azarian 
strode  silently  beside  them,  seated  them  com- 
fortably at  last,  and  betook  himself  off. 


162  AZARIAN. 

Madame  Saratov  finds  oat  who  is  there, 
at  a  glance,  collects  her  hovering  chevaliers, 
and  lets  Ruth  abandon  herself  to  her  dream- 
ing. It  is  the  same  intoxication  to  Ruth  as 
ever :  the  lights,  the  hues,  the  stir ;  she  hardly 
sees  the  curtain  rise,  but  suddenly  finds  her- 
self living  the  life  the  scenes  present. 

The  play  opens  in  the  palace,  at  the  table, 
with  music,  and  slaves  bearing  golden  dishes. 
There  are  present  the  old  Emperor,  courtiers, 
among  them  the  impetuous  Lucinius.  When 
one  mentions  the  late  victories  in  the  East, 
the  Emperor  bends,  and,  with  bland  smiling 
mouth,  but  eyes  whose  fires  beneath  gray 
brows  might  wither  him  to  ashes,  asks  Lu- 
cinius concerning  the  victor,  and  straightway 
Lucinius  launches  into  panegyric  till  silenced 
by  the  angry  monarch  who  breaks  up  the 
brilliant  feast  in  dismay.  Then  the  scene 
changes  to  a  moonlit  garden,  with  soldiers 
in  glittering  armor  and  upright  battle-axes 


AZARIAN.  163 

keeping  the  imperial  gate.  Grouped  in  a 
knot  they  converse,  low-voiced,  of  the  young 
general  now  on  his  return  from  conquest ; 
they  rehearse  his  spoils,  remind  each  other 
of  the  wonders  of  his  celerity  and  his  combi- 
nations, tell  of  his  gallantry,  his  generosity, 
his  genius,  and  of  the  jealous  power  upon 
the  throne  at  home  continually  thwarting 
him  and  to-day  refusing  a  triumph.  As  they 
speak,  a  slender  girl  comes  floating  down 
the  long  garden-aisles  where  all  is  dusky  peace 
and  serenity,  her  white  robes  fluttering  about 
her,  her  black  hair  loose  beneath  the  thread 
that  binds  a  trembling  silver  star  upon  her 
forehead.  Their  words  arrest  her ;  she  draws 
near,  and  stands  in  the  semi-shadow  with 
folded  hands  and  bending  brow,  and  the  sil- 
ver star  flickering  and  darting  its  rays  as  her 
pulses  stir.  The  only  word  that  escapes  her 
is  his  name,  —  Aurelius.  The  guard  perceive 
her.  It  is  Virgilia,  they  exclaim,  and  with- 


164  AZARIAN. 

draw  each  upon  his  separate  beat.  She  ad- 
vances then  a  step,  but  still  remains  rapt  in 
the  heroic  fancies  his  name  evoked,  now  and 
then  repeating  it  beneath  her  breath.  As  she 
yet  stands,  enter  two  courtiers,  —  one  talking 
cautiously,  the  other  Lucinius.  They  re- 
turn from  the  banquet,  and  speak  concerning 
it ;  for  there  is  small  doubt  but  that  Lucini- 
us has  given  the  hoary  tyrant  deadly  offence 
by  his  daring  praise  of  Aurelius.  But  0  for 
one  day  of  Aurelius !  Lucinius  cries.  The 
army  all  his  own,  would  but  some  hand  blest 
by  the  gods  do  to  death  our  tyrant,  —  he  has 
one  heir  alone,  who  does  not  know  her  right, 
and,  believing  herself  to  be  kinswoman  of 
the  dead  Empress,  never  needs  to  know  it,  — 
and  with  Aurelius  on  the  throne  such  glories 
should  arise  on  Rome  as  might  make  wan  the 
lustre  of  her  past.  Ah,  what  heart  is  hot 
enough,  what  hand  so  holy !  Here,  at  these 
words,  as  she  leans  forward,  with  half-raised 


AZARIAN.  165 

palm  and  flashing  eye,  the  startled  knights 
salute  the  Lady  Virgilia,  and  pass  on  silently ; 
but  before  they  reach  the  gate  hidden  emissa- 
ries spring  forth,  and,  leaving  the  other,  hale 
Luciuius  to  a  dungeon.  Virgilia  has  seen  it ; 
it  adds  only  one  more  to  the  long  list  of  tyran- 
nies that  she  has  known.  Alone,  her  thoughts 
declare  themselves,  —  this  hero,  dwarfed  from 
his  possibilities,  becomes  in  her  eyes  a  god  ; 
how  great  must  be  the  stroke  when  the  vibra- 
tion rings  in  all  men's  ears !  To  aid  his  wide 
renown,  to  serve  him  even  so  much  as  by 
being  the  dust  he  walks  on,  to  cease  the  base 
servitude  under  which  her  country  totters,  to 
drown  the  groans  in  shouts,  to  open  dungeon- 
doors,  to  make  way  for  sirch  glorious  reign, — 
her  stature  rises,  the  star  shines  on  her  up- 
lifted brow,  her  face  glows  with  devoted  pur- 
pose. But  the  way,  —  the  way!  A  trembling 
seizes  her,  —  there  is  but  one!  Then  she 
goes.  She  who  came  a  pure  and  happy 


166  AZARIAN. 

maiden  departs  already  sin -stained  in  her 
dreams,  —  a  bold  and  terrible  contrast.  There 
follows  a  quick  pageant  of  other  scenes,  where 
Virgilia,  still  nursing  her  idea  of  crime,  dis- 
pels all  circles  by  her  mere  approach.  In  the 
wide  hall  some  game  goes  on  ;  Yirgilia,  with 
the  star  trembling  on  her  brow,  steals  silently 
upon  the  scene  ;  the  groups  melt  singly  one 
by  one  before  her ;  in  mild  abstraction  mov- 
ing on,  the  music  falls  to  melancholy  tune, 
the  dances  languish,  the  dancers  droop  and 
draw  away ;  she  joins  the  new  ring,  only  to 
find  herself  freshly  forsaken  and  apart ;  she 
follows  the  clusters  round  the  hall ;  each  time 
they  separate  and  disappear,  and  leave  her 
there  alone.  She  goes  out.  Again,  the  star 
on  her  forehead  bickering  back  the  ray  of 
the  taper  she  bears,  she  traverses  at  night  the 
long  dungeon-corridors  :  conspirators  whisper 
there  ;  but  as  she  passes,  they  lose  their  cour- 
age and  their  will,  and  creep  away  as  if  awed, 


AZARIAN.  167 

and  conscious  of  the  approach  of  a  greater 
crime  than  theirs ;  she  emerges  into  a  wider 
way,  and  sets  down  the  light,  —  all  this  black- 
ness, these  moans,  these  clanking  chains, 
•evoked  by  a  power  as  easily  quenched  as  this 
tiny  flame, —  she  extinguishes  the  taper.  And 
then  she  sacrifices  at  the  altar,  and  the  fire 
goes  out.  Here  Yirgilia  wavers,  and  here 
Aurelius  comes.  She  is  present  when  he  is 
received  at  court  with  haughty  disfavor  and 
disdain.  They  meet  as  the  monarch  with- 
draws, and  he  bends  before  her,  overcome  with 
sudden  delight ;  for  hitherto  his  heart  has 
burned  with  no  fire  but  that  of  pure  patriot- 
ism. It  is  in  the  moonlit  garden  again  that 
Aurelius  talks  with  his  friend ;  of  too  facile  na- 
ture to  breast  the  hour's  displeasure,  he  finds 
other  satisfactions ;  he  has  no  fancy  for  imperial 
favors,  nor  for  the  luxuries  of  courts  ;  never 
will  he  promote  discord  through  ambition ; 
these  dark  hints,  wherein  so  much  is  offered, 


168  AZARIAN. 

loyal  to  the  heart's  core,  he  spurns,  —  glory 
forever  plays  along  his  sword-blade ;  he  will 
away  to  'the  frontier  and  serve  his  country  as 
he  may  by  tossing  back  the  wild  waves  of  the 
barbarian  hordes.  Lofty  as  valiant  he  builds 
up  his  dream,  —  and  here,  far  down  across  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  Virgilia  is  seen  to  flit, 
turning,  upon  the  two,  eyes  of  glad  vengeful 
triumph,  and,  still  clutched  with  the  nervous 
intensity  of  the  deed,  distinct  against  her 
white  raiment  is  the  reddened  dagger.  There 
follow  stormy  scenes  of  alarum,  of  confusion, 
of  coronation.  By  night  again,  Virgilia  in 
her  wild  unrest  paces  the  garden-walks,  the 
silver  star  no  longer  shining  on  her  forehead, 
but  all  her  dark  unfilleted  hair  streaming 
loose  over  the  white  shawl  that  wraps  her 
white  array.  To  her  enters  Aurelius  crowned. 
Art  does  her  most  to  beautify  the  scene,  with 
late  moonrise,  urns  of  flowers,  plash  of  foun- 
tains, and  far-away  slow  rise  and  fall  of  music. 


AZARIAN.  169 

The  sense  of  night  is  perfect,  and  so  the  sense 
of  love  in  the  two  figures  that  draw  near  each 
other,  for  Virgilia  meets  him  as  if  the  god  had 
come  to  demand  her  worship.  He  holds  her 
hands,  in  brief  terms  speaks,  asks  her  to 
strengthen  his  throne,  lifts  the  crown  from  his 
head,  and  suffers  it  to  fall  on  hers.  Was  it 
for  this  !  For  power,  for  empery,  for  her- 
self, had  she  done  that  deed  ?  The  thought 
of  her  possible  share  in  its  gain  had  never 
before  occurred ;  she  wrings  the  detestable 
hand  as  if  to  tear  its  act  away  with  it,  her 
blood  boils  in  her  veins,  she  dashes  down  the 
crown,  and  the  splendid  bawble  spins  along 
the  ground.  But  he  loves,  Aurelius  loves 
her !  And  what  vile  thing  is  this  which 
she  has  made  herself,  which  she  has  made 
the  soul  his  love  embraces !  Beneath  her 
raiment  still  lurks  the  knife.  Let  her  die 
here  and  now,  on  his  heart !  Just  then  a 
little  page  trips  through  the  gardens,  tin- 


170  AZARIAN. 

kling  his  lute,  and  singing  cheerily  some 
verse  whose  refrain  flows, 

When  sonls  are  glad, 

Then  love  is  blest, 
When  souls  are  sad, 

Then  love  is  best. 
For  in  the  grave  love  lives  not, 
Death  takes,  but  gives  not. 

Aurelius  breathes  some  ardent  word,  his  vows 

• 

protest,  his  arms  await.  Then  love  is  best,  — 
she  says.  She  turns  upon  him,  and  looks  him 
through  and  through;  she  raises  the  crown 
and  invests  him  with  it  anew.  Her  work,  he 
is,  her  triumph, — joy  surges  up  to  her  lips 
in  proud  glad  words,  his  love  completes  it  in 
delicate  and  tender  passion  ;  they  go  in,  and 
the  place  opens  out  to  a  hall  of  revelry. 
When -next  Virgilia  comes  upon  the  scene, 
she  trails  imperial  purple,  and  a  band  of 
cameos  binds  the  blackness  of  her  hair;  she 
is  flushed  with  regnant  pride  and  the  sweet 


AZARIAN.  171 

taste  of  authority,  but  ever  and  anon  throws 
anxious  glances  after  her  lord  as  he  moves 
among  their  guests ;  for  the  retributive  Fates 
tread  swift  behind.  At  length  seating  her- 
self, she  beckons  him  to  her  side.  But  look- 
ing down  when  nigh,  he  murmurs,  with  a 
start,  that  there  is  blood  upon  his  throne. 
She  retorts  in  the  same  key,  by  asking  if  one 
who  wades  ankle-deep  in  battle-fields  need 
shiver  at  a  drop  dried  on  his  chair.  He 
would  seat  himself,  but  is  hindered  by  that 
which  glides  in  and  occupies  it  first,  —  the 
phantom  of  the  murdered  Emperor.  She 
offers  him  her  hand  for  aid,  he  shrinks  as  if 
he  saw  a  stain  upon  it.  For  all  these  things, 
happening  to  him  instead  of  her,  are  but  the 
bodily  projection  of  his  wife's  guilt  slowly 
making  itself  visible.  Yet  he  does  not  so 
reason,  but,  weakened  by  the  recurring  sur- 
prises, he  begins  to  question  if  he  himself  be 
not  the  culprit ;  he  doubts  if  it  was  vehement- 


172  AZARIAN. 

ly  that  lie  repulsed  those  first  dark  overtures  ; 
his  eye  is  ever  distraught,  his  attention  forced, 
his  breath  a  weary  sigh ;  his  government  goes 
wrong,  confusion  reigns  in  his  provinces,  a 
power  built  upon  tyrannicide  itself  wields  an 
insupportable  sceptre,  couriers  enter  his  pres- 
ence only  to  announce  misfortune,  his  health 
gives  way,  his  brain  reels,  —  and  Virgilia  fol- 
lows him  like  a  shadow.  At  length,  in  the 
same  garden  that  saw  her  first  conception  of 
crime,  that  she  crossed  upon  its  execution,  in 
which  she  took  up  her  destiny,  Aurelius 
comes,  while  distant  thunders  roll  and  blue 
lightnings  flash  their  blades  down  the  dark- 
ness of  the  trees,  —  he  comes  and  asks  if  it 
can  be  possible  that  in  some  mad  and  forgot- 
ten moment,  some  lapse  of  the  intellect,  some 
delirium,  if  in  his  sleep,  it  can  be  possible  he 
took  his  sovereign's  life,  —  for  loyalty  was  the 
breath  of  the  being  of  Aurelius.  And  he  cries 
out  that  he  loathes  himself,  loathes  the  flesh 


AZARIAN.  173 

that  so  has  sinned.  The  bolt  has  fallen. 
Fate  has  overcome  Virgilia  ;  her  work  follows 
her.  He  maddens  with  this  belief,  and  to 
undeceive  him  is  to  die.  Hating  himself, 
how  would  he  abhor  her  !  Could  she  bear 
it  ?  His  love,  —  can  she  lose  it  ?  His  love  ! 
she  has  lost  it  already ;  it  is  not  she  that  pos- 
sesses it,  but  the  false,  false  image  of  her  in  his 
heart.  Her  mind  wanders  back  and  lingers 
on  the  dreadful  deed,  her  hands  upon  her 
temples,  her  wild  eyes  full  of  terror,  "  His  old 
white  hair,"  she  mutters.  But  here  a  band 
of  gay  maskers  with  torches  and  lutes  troop 
through  the  distance,  evading  the  advancing 
storm,  their  gayety  throwing  out  the  tragedy 
of  these  two  figures.  Virgilia  glances  at  her 
Emperor  where  he  has  sunk  upon  one  knee 
with  the  groan  escaping  him,  takes  her  re- 
solve, and  gives  him  one  last  look,  tender, 
pitying,  passionate,  a  look  as  if  it  were  a 
wife's  embrace.  Then  going  to  him,  she  asks, 


174  AZARIAN. 

with  one  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  what  is  his 
idle  fancy.  He  only  murmurs  the  old  Em- 
peror's name.  She-  recoils  a  moment  from 
the  ghastly  fire  that  seems  for  one  breath  to 
wrap  the  world,  and  then  replies. 

"  The  Emperor  ?    Hark,  —  I  slew  him." 

"  Virgilia  !  —  thou  ?  " 

"  I.  And  I  keep  the  dagger  for  myself !  " 
drawing  it  from  benewth  her  robes.  "  A  good 
deed  !  Rome's  salvation  !  " 

«  Wretch  !     Thy  father  !  " 

"Nay  — I  — slew  him." 

"  Virgilia  —  thou  —  "  he  reiterates,  and  it 
is  all  he  says.  But  reason  has  returned  and 
thrown  her  light  upon  the  past;  he  does  not 
doubt.  He  trembles  away  from  her  touch  ; 
his  eyes  meet  hers,  as  if  their  horror  and  dis- 
gust were  death-strokes.  Remorse,  despair, 
agonize  her  frame.  She  shudders  to  his  feet, 
the  dagger  in  her  heart,  wreathing  one  arm 
about  his  knee,  and  sighing,  "I  —  for  I  loved 


AZARIAN.  175 

thee."  A  hollow  roar  of  thunder  tears  the 
air,  sudden  blackness  sheets  the  place,  and  far 
away  the  mailed  sentinel  at  the  gate  catches 
the  distant  watch-word,  and,  repeating,  cries, 
"  All  's  well." 

There  was  incident,  side-plot,  by-play,  in 
the  thing,  there  were  points  and  room  for 
power ;  but  to  Ruth  it  consisted  only  of  a 
succession  of  startling  and  perfect  figures, 
each  one  in  geste  and  deed,  in  fold  and  curve, 
a  statuesque  study  infiltrated  and  permeated 
with  a  glow  of  passion  and  abandon,  and  all 
of  them  Charmian. 

Ruth  returned  with  Madame  Saratov  and 
her  court,  dissolved  in  dreaming.  They  were 
all  in  a  state  of  dilettante  rapture,  which 
must  have  mightily  pleased  Azarian.  Madame 
Saratov  was  kindly  eager  that  Ruth  should 
stay  and  sup;  the  boys,  clinging  .round  her, 
could  take  no  denial ;  but  Azarian,  with  a 
novel  regard  for  her  health,  would  not  hear 


176  AZARIAN. 

of  it ;  and  though  they  were  bringing  in  the 
dishes  that  sent  their  appetizing  smoke  before 
them,  and  though  to  fasting  Ruth,  if  one  will 
pardon  her,  the  crisp  turn  of  the  broiled  teal, 
— Azarian's  shooting,  —  the  faint  yauilla  odors 
and  cinnamon  flavors,  the  strengthening  aroma 
of  the  coffee,  were  tempting  enough,  she  op- 
posed no  objection,  and  was  hurried  off,  —  for 
her  lover  was  to  return,  after  his  farewell  and 
imperative  injunction  that  she  should  immedi- 
ately seek  her  pillow. 

But  no  pillow  did  Ruth  visit  that  night. 
She  was  fired  with  joyous  excitement.  And 
the  dawn-light  saw  her  still  bending  over  her 
scattered  sheets  and  pencils.  Then  at  last  she 
slept,  —  one  of  those  sweet  sleeps  that  follow 
accomplishment,  haunted  by  noiseless  dreams, 
outlines  of  glorious  and  unattainable  beauty 
ever  rhythmically  sequent,  and  filled,  by  the 
keen  sunshine  sifting  through  her  lids,  with 
colors  of  flame  and  light,  —  sleep  deep,  bliss- 


AZARIAN.  177 

ful,  and  oblivious.  Such  sweet  and  fiery  fer- 
vor of  work  and  such  intoxicating  reaction 
dulled  half  the  edge  of  Azarian's  treatment, 
when  they  could  be  had.  He  would  have 
reprobated  them  much,  but  in  fact  to  them  he 
owed  it  that  his  doom  did  not  envelop  him 
sooner.  Later  that  day  a  publisher  for  these 
drawings  was  obtained,  and  the  next  week 
found  wonderful  etchings  in  all  the  windows, 
mere  contours  with  scarcely  a  hint  of  shad- 
ow, but  beautiful  as  the  dreams  themselves. 
Whether  when  wandering  with  the  virgin  star 
of  her  innocence  trembling  on  her  forehead  ; 
when  flashing  across  the  garden's  foot,  the 
weapon  in  her  hand  ;  when  flushed  with  im- 
perial sway,  moving  among -her  maidens,  the 
white  throat  swelling  proudly  outward  like  a 
swan's ;  when  followed  by  the  vague  train  of 
the  retributive  Fates  ;  when  vainly  essaying  to 
lift  a  heavy  heart  in  prayer  ;  when  rising  from 
despair  into  a  radiant  sudden  swift-flying  hap- 


178  AZARIAN. 

piness  that  transformed  her  face  into  miracles 
of  splendor ;  in  that  wild  moment  of  woe 
when  she  sees  the  impress  of  her  crime  on  him 
she  loves  ;  in  that  awful  one  when  she  looks 
face  to  face  with  the  Nemesis ;  or  when  at 
last  fallen  at  her  husband's  feet,  shrouded  in 
the  heavy  masses  of  drapery  that  swirl  and 
slowly  settle  round  her,  the  white  uplifted 
arm  alone  left  clinging  to  life,  —  all  lovely  as 
sculpture,  all  perfect  as  pure  form  could  be, 
all  full  of  the  vivid  fire  of  art  that  moulds 
clay  and  makes  it  something  imperishable,  all 
as  if  the  lost  Pleiad  were  picturing  her  path, 
and  all  drawn  with  a  clarity  of  line,  with  a 
nerve  and  vigor,  as  if  a  diamond  had  etched 
them  upon  crystal.  If  Charmian's  fame  had 
last  week  been  insecure,  to-day  it  was  fixed  as . 
the  stars. 

Azarian  was  in  a  rare  rage  when  he  came 
in  one  morning  with  a  handful  of  them,  and 
the  only  reason  that  the  plate  was  not  de- 


AZARIAN.  179 

stroyed  was  because  it  had  passed  beyond  her 
power.  He  insisted  that  she  should  go  out 
with  him  and  ascertain  if  that  were  really  so  ; 
and  when  they  returned,  they  found  the  room 
steeped  in  fragrance  and  fairly  sown  with 
flowers,  —  chairs,  tables,  vases,  books,  and 
carpet,  all  astrew,  —  great  wide-blown  exotics 
in  deep  shades  and'  powerful  contrasts,  and 
the  soul  dying  out  of  them  in  strong  sweet 
odors  that  took  the  delighted  breath  away. 
Ruth  kissed  the  broad  petals  as  she  caught 
them  up  in  her  hand,  —  she  knew  well  where 
they  came  from.  Had  Azarian  known,  the 
window  would  have  found  their  passage  to  the 
street.  'As  it  was,  he  watched  her  put  the 
thirsty  stems  to  drink,  all  but  those  white 
ones  hanging  about  her  father's  chair,  —  those 
staid  as  Charmian  placed  them  ;  if  he  caught 
her  lip  quivering,  in  this  ruffled  state  of  his 
feathers  it  was  pleasant  as  an  evidence  of  his 
power,  —  compassion  was  foreign  to  the  soul 


180  AZARIAN. 

of  Azarian.  Then  be  anathematized  Ruth, 
time,  and  his  patients,  and  was  off;  nor  did 
he  condescend  to  present  himself  again  for 
a  dozen  days,  partly  from  convenience,  partly 
on  account  of  other  pleasures,  partly  in  chas- 
tisement for  her  great  misdemeanor.  Mean- 
time, of  course,  Ruth  worked,  and  meantime 
worked  in  vain ;  for  though,  in  its  first  flush, 
Love  had  enriched  her  as  a  June  sun  enriches 
the  blossoming  mould,  of  late  it  had  abstracted 
life  and  strength ;  the  other's  faithlessness  pre- 
vented its  being  the  ambient  atmosphere  in 
which  she  moved ;  it  had  come  to  be  but  a 
mere  outgrowth  of  her  own  soul,  fed  from  a 
chilled  and  half-exhausted  soil,  like  those  lin- 
gering things,  the  flaunting  flowers  that  suck 
the  rich  earth  dead.  Azarian  had  so  wholly 
her  thoughts,  her  dreams,  and  her  desires,  that 
art  refused  to  receive  the  poor  remainder; 
there  was  no  fertility  in  her  fancy,  no  color 
in  her  pencil.  The  only  thing  she  did  that 


AZARIAN.  181 

had  a  ray  of  the  old  sparkle  was  a  stem  of 
berries,  whose  scarlet  juicy  lights  were  veiled 
in  meshes  of  the  witch-hazel's  yellow  tangles ; 
and  just  as  she  contemplated  it,  on  her  sad 
face  a  faint  smile  like  a  moonbeam  parting 
a  vapory  heaven,  some  one's  foot  bounded 
up  the  staircase,  and  Azarian  came  in. 

Ruth  had  been  trying,  for  discipline,  to 
capture  and  tame  a  belief  that  necessity  oc- 
casioned these  indifferences  and  absences  of 
her  lover's,  and,  nowise  self-analyzing,  did  not 
know,  indeed,  that  she  was  but  suffering  her- 
self to  drift  along  this  current  of  her  hopes 
and  fears  till  some  certain  boundary  were 
reached,  —  only  half  felt  the  volcanic  forces 
now  stifled  within,  one  day  to  make  upheaval. 
As  to  excuses,  Azarian  never  availed  himself 
of  them.  If  Ruth  found  fault,  she  was  wel- 
come to  keep  it ;  and  to  some  natures  such 
•lordly  behavior  is  the  pressure  that  still  draws 
the  streams  from  the  deep  wells  in  the  heart. 


182  AZARIAN. 

When  he  entered  the  room,  humming,  as  was 
his  wont,  some  one  of  the  Miltonic  quatrains, 

"  There  eternal  summer  dwells, 

And  west  winds  with  musky  wing 
Round  the  cedarn'  alleys  fling 
Nard  and  cassia's  balmy  smells,"  — 

or,  after  a  fioriture  of  whistling,  breaking  into 
another,  — 

"  Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn 
Cheerly  rouse  the  slumbering  morn, 
From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill 
Through  Jhe  high  wood  echoing  shrill,"  — 

how  was  it  possible  to  be  angry,  or  to  do  any- 
thing but  couple  him  with  their  beauty  and 
melody?  When,  at  length,  he  was  ready  to 
kiss  her,  and  then  went  rattling  on  a  gay  ex- 
travagance of  laughable  nonsense,  how  could 
she  be  chiding?  In  fact,  all  Ruth  had  ever 
pretended  to  do  was  to  forget  the  past,  and' 
let  the  spirit  of  the  hour  rule.  But  to-day 


AZARIAN.  183 

that  unsuspected  little  leaveu  was  sending  its 
fermenting  bubbles  upwards ;  there  had  been 
a  touch  of  indignation  that  she  should  so  pour 
out  her  whole  life  at  his  feet,  and  he  not  even 
stoop  to  pick  it  up  ;  and  though  it  vanished 
at  sight  of  his  face,  and  sound  of  his  voice, 
all  things  leave  their  trace  behind  them. 

"Very  pretty,"  remarked  Azarian,  care- 
lessly, looking  over  her  shoulder  at  the  recent 
work. 

"  I  have  lost  all  my  power,"  she  said. 

"  As  if  you  ever  had  any !  I  suppose  I 
have  absorbed  it.  Well,  I  'm  willing  ;  are  n't 
you  ?  "  * 

«  Yes,  —  if  I  could  afford  it." 

"•Afford?  Do  you  mean  to  paint  after  — 
after  you  're  married  ? "  Even  Azarian's  cour- 
age was  a  little  staggered  by  his  impudence. 

The  color  flew  over  Ruth's  face,  till  it 
pained  her.  Almost  a  year  was  it  since,  in 
his  first  raptures,  he  had  alluded  to  such  a 
possibility. 


184  AZARIAN. 

"Well,  then,  you  won't  need  the  power, 
and  I  shall;  because  I  expect  to  do  greatly 
when  I  reach  my  meridian." 

"  Not  before  ?  "  Ruth  asked,  archly. 

"  No,  I  despise  prematurities,  prodigies,  ex- 
crescences of  the  brain,  two-headed  eagles  "  — 

"  Mozart,  for  instance." 

"  Exceptions  prove  the  rule.  He  was  n't 
a  human  being ;  he  was  a  musician.  Where  's 
my  violin  ?  Why  have  n't  I  another  here  ?  I 
wonder  who  has  Paganini's  Tartini  ?  " 

"  I  guess  you  have." 

"  Mine  's  a  Guarnerius." 

"  He  had  a  living  soul  imprisoned  in  his, 
you  know." 

"  Pooh !  Well,  you  have  n't  such  a  thing  as 
a  bird-call,  or  a  comb  and  a  piece  of  paper  ?  " 

"  No,  you  silly  boy." 

"  Silly,  eh  ?  Allow  me  to  observe  that  it 
is  the  same  great  principle  of  vibration  that 
settled  the  structure  of  the  violin.  Yes,  ex- 


AZARIAN.  185 

ceptions  prove  the  rule,"  said  Azarian,  walk- 
ing about  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  as 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do  with  them.  "  The 
mould  that  shaped  a  Penseroso,  at  twenty, 
would  have  cracked  and  split  to  atoms  with 
the  gigantic  germ,  of  a  Satan.  I  have  a  little 
theory  to  the  purpose.  Do  you  know  that  in 
August  we  stand  in  exactly  the  same  relative 
position  towards  the  sun  that  we  do  in  April  ? 
But  the  one  brings  only  cold  showers  and 
drifting  snows,  patches  of  "blue  sky  and  blithe 
promise,  and  it  is  not  till  the  summer  solstice 
has  accumulated  all  the  sunshine,  and  the 
earth  is  soaked  in  hoarded  warmth  and  light, 
that  the  other  gives  back  the  fervid  wealth, 
gilds  her  billowy  fields  of  grain,  and  greets 
retiring  day  with  ripe  rich  orchard-sides.  So 
let  no  man  audit  his  own  accounts  till  he 
is  fifty.  Tarde  magna  proveniunt.  As  for 
women,  let  them  do  what  they  're  able  when- 
ever they  can,"  said  Azarian,  with  a  hearty 


186  AZAKIAN. 

contempt.  "  What  do  you  think  of  that,  little 
woman  ?  " 

"0,  it's  very  consolatory,  —  especially  the 
last.  There  you  touch  the  root  of  all  the 
evils.  If  I  had  been  Alphonso  of  Castile  !  " 

"  You  would  have  suggested  —  ?  " 

"  Something  more  radical  than  he  dreamed 
of." 

"  A  surd  quantity.     What  might  it  be  ?  " 

"  There  never  should  have  been  a  woman 
made !  " 

"  Oh  indeed !  Wormwood  and  thoroughwort 
tea,  —  extract  of  Miss  Yetton's  bitterness, — 
which  means  that  a  man  has  no  business  to 
talk  anything  but  whipt-syllabub  and  kisses 
to  his  little  sweetheart." 

"  An  untried  experiment." 

"  Satirical  too,  by  Jove  !  " 

"Am  I  your  little  sweetheart?  Do  you 
care  anything  about  me  ?  "  asked  Ruth,  under 
her  breath,  in  a  sweet,' coaxing  tone. 


A  PARIAN.  ,      187 

"  I  don't  know.  You  ought  to,"  lie  replied, 
with  a  blackbird's  whistle,  and  then  beginning 
to  sing, 

"  But  that  wild  music  burthens  every  bough, 
And  sweets  grown  common  lose  their  dear  delight." 

"  Azarian,"  said  Ruth,  timidly,  again  after 
a  moment's  silence,  "  are  you  quite  sure  that 
you  love  me  well  enough  to  marry  me?" 

"  If  a  breeze  never  blew,  stagnation  would 
ensue,  —  which  is  the  reason,  I  suppose,  that 
the  best  of  women  sometimes  insist  upon  a 
fuss,"  he  replied,  wheeling  round  upon  her. 
"You  want  we  should  arrive  at  an  under- 
standing, do  you  ?  Here  we  are,  then.  Childe 
Roland  to  the  Dark  Tower  came.  You  've 
been  imposed  upon,  neglected,  and  abused. 
If  you  please,"  with  a  wave  of  the  hand. 
"  You  've  been  sacrificed  to  selfish  pleasures. 
You  've  been  left  to  pine  alone.  I  received 
your  happiness  in  charge,  and  take  no  care 
of  it  whatever.  You  weary  of  your  one-sided 


188        •  AZARIAN. 

affair,  in  which  you  give  all,  and  my  commodi- 
ties do  not  meet  your  wants.  Yet  you  started 
with  your  eyes  open.  I  never  condescended 
to  a  concealment.  If  you  were  but  once  well 
out  of  the  scrape  !  " 

"0  no,  no,  Azarian,"   sobbed  little  Ruth, 
her  head  on  the  table. 

"  No  ?  Then  come  kiss  your  heartless 
wretch,  and  be  still.  What,  turned  over  a 
new  leaf  and  blotting  it  already  ?  We  may 
as  well-  have  it  out,"  said  Azarian,  with  a  fresh, 
inflection  for  every  sentence.  He  took  her 
hand,  but  apparently  in  a  purely  medical  ca- 
pacity,—  as  the  surgeon  keeps  his  finger  on 
the  vein,  in  the  hall  of  torture,  —  and,  hold- 
ing it,  continued.  "  Every  man  has  a  wife, 
therefore  1.  Black  moments  visit  all,  then 
all  need  a  fireside  ;  better  at  such  times  the 
corner  of  a  workhouse  chimney,  where  faces 
are,  than  a  lonely  den,  albeit  luxurious,  where 
they  are  not.  You  bewitched  me  once  ;  and 


AZARIAN.  189 

when  the  thrall  loosened,  I  saw  this.  You 
remember  they  say  those  old  statues,  those 
faultless  forms,  those  Grecian  women  of  ideal- 
ized bodies,  can  have  no  soul,  —  the  physical 
perfected  at  expense  of  the  intellect.  Look 
at  an  outline  here,  Ruth,"  and  his  face  made 
a  silhouette  against  the  deep  noon  light. 
"  Pure  Greek.  Can  the  Apollo  have  a  heart  ? 
You  will  make  the  wife  I  wish,  —  quiet,  do- 
cile, submissive,  —  power  enough  to  aid,  grace 
enough  for  a  companion,  tact  enough  to  let 
alone  and  wait  when  unrequired,  —  qualities 
I  might  seek  far,  and  not  find  in  another.  To 
pretend  myself  to  be  madly  in  love  would  be 
ridiculous  ;  but  to  separate  from  you  would 
occasion  me  more  inquietude  than  I  care  to 
encounter." 

A  slow  indignation  and  amazement  were 
burning  Ruth  up.  "  You  have  said  it  all, 
sir !  "  said  she,  half  rising,  and  trying  to  tear 
away  her  hand.  "  Everything  is  over  between 


190  AZARIAN. 

us.     I  never,  never  will  be  that  wife,  so  help 
me"  — 

"  Take  care,  little  one.  You  will  only  eat 
your  words.  You  will  be  my  wife,  and  you 
know  it.  We  are  bound,  God  sees  why,  by 
indissoluble  ties,  and  you  feel  them.  In  real- 
ity, we  are  almost  one  now,  or  I  could  not 
treat  you  so,  as  if  you  were  a  part  of  me  to  agi- 
tate as  I  pleased.  You  are  promised  me  ;  you 
are  mine ;  I  never,  never  will  give  you  back 
that  promise,  so  help  me  —  what  did  n't  help 
you.  Rock  your  heart  to  rest,  —  't  is  a  trouble- 
some little  atom,  —  and  don't  interrupt  the 
oracle.  Sit  down,  Ruth.  Indeed,'!  could  n't 
let  you  go.  If  no  other  lover  ever  addressed 
a  woman  so,  it  is  because  no  other  lover  ever 
relied  on  the  woman's  intelligence  so  —  en- 
tirely —  as  I  do.  The  wives  of  men  of  genius 
must  not  expect  the  tranquil  existence  of  those 
who  marry  poodles.  The  husband  always 
waxes  the  friend;  yours  has  done  so  a  trifle 


AZARIAN.  191 

sooner  than  ordinary.  •  Take  the  goods  the 
gods  provide.  Be  content  with  being  allowed 
so  to  lavish  yourself  on  me,  Ruth ;  —  some 
day,  perhaps,  —  on  my  death-bed,  —  I  shall 
look  up  and  understand  it  all  and  return  it. 
Fluttering  little  pulse,  be  still,  be  still.  When 
we  are  married  next  June,  remember  these 
things,  and  don't  exact  too  much  of  me, 
and  you  can  make  yourself  quite  comfort- 
able." 

Ruth  essayed  to  subdue  the  riot  within  her ; 
but  when  they  had  been  quiet  for  a  time,  it 
all  bubbled  up  anew  at  his  calm  tones. 

"  It 's  a  fallacy  that  women  are  lovely  in 
tears  "  — 

"  I  'm  not  crying,"  murmured  Ruth,  stoutly, 
in  the  very  face  of  a  plunging  shower. 
'  "Who  said  you  were?"  laughed  Azarian. 
"  I  merely  advanced  a  general  apothegm.  You 
are  the  girl  in  the  fairy-tale  whose  mouth 
dropped  roses,  and  whose  eyes  dropped  —  I 


192  AZARIAN. 

suppose  you  call  this' a  brilliant,"  looking  at 
something  fallen  brightly  on  his  cuff.  "  In 
that  case,  how  royally  besprent  shall  I  be ! 
But  in  the  other,  —  if  I  put  up  an  umbrella,  — 
ah !  here  comes  the  sun  !  "  For  Ruth's  laugh 
set  her  eyelashes  a-glitter. 

"  It  could  n't  be,"  said  she,  "  that  one  was 
the  least  'bit  dearer  than  you  knew  "  — 

"  Why  could  n't  it  be  ?  Let  us  cherish  the 
kind  illusion.  My  little  girl,  perhaps,  after 
all,  there  is  a  seedling  of  love  deep  down  un- 
der my  rubbish,  which,  in  a  desire  to  be  plain, 
I  have  not  given  credit  for.  Ruth,  accept 
your  fate." 

"  Dear  Azarian,"  said  she,  trying  hard  to 
keep  her  voice  steady,  "  I  am  sorry  I  spoke  so 
then  "  — 

"  Nonsense  !  I  like  one  best  with  a  trifle 
of  spirit." 

"I  —  I  want  to  do  what  is  best  for  you. 
If  you  should  really  meet  the  woman  who  was 


AZARIAN.  193 

all  to  you  that  you  are  to  me,  by  and  by,  when 
too  late  "  — 

"  It  would  never  be  too  late  for  me." 

"  But  it  would  be  for  me  !  "  said  Ruth,  dis- 
mayed. 

"  0, 1  thought  you  were  regarding  another. 
For  you,  nobody  can  decide  so  well  as  your- 
self. Now  go  bathe  your  eyes  in  rose-water." 

"  I  have  n't  any." 

"  Then  I  must  kiss  them  dry.  How  do 
tears  taste,  Ruth?" 

«  Salt !  " 

"  Salt,  bitter  salt,  as  who  should  know  bet- 
ter. —  Lucky  leech  that  I  am !  There,  dis- 
solve that  powder  in  something,  and  wet 
your  angry  lids.  That  soothes,  and  prevents 
my  delay.  Kissing  is  not  the  end  of  life, 
Ruth." 

«  What  is  ?  "    ' 

"  Now  you  're  to  go  with  me,  and  dine  at 
Madame  Saratov's." 


194  AZARIAN. 

And  free  confession  being  good  for  the  soul, 
Azarian,  in  his  blithest  inood  that  night,  looked 
many  a  time  at  Ruth,  who,  stung  to  brilliancy, 
so  sparkled  that  he  congratulated  himself  on 
his  day's  work. 

Madame  Saratov  kept  Ruth  that  evening 
after  they  were  all  gone,  spread  a  little  cot 
for  her  in  a  closet  adjoining  her  own  room, 
had  Isa  to  comb  out  her  braids,  and  when  they 
were  both  whitely  arrayed  for  the  night,  sit- 
ting before  the  fire  in  embowering  arm-chairs, 
their  feet  lost  in  the  pile  of  crimson  cushions, 
idly  tasting  their  spicy  sangarees,  all  in  a  state 
of  more  luxury  than  Ruth  could  have  con- 
trived with  the  money,  and  that  the  other  con- 
trived without,  just  on  the  indolent  somno- 
lent dreamy  verge,  in  that  deep  rich  light  and 
warmth,  with  the  late  hour  tolled  out  by  silver 
stroke  of  distant  bells,  Madame  Saratov  read 
her  the  second  lesson  of  the  day. 

"  My  dear,"  said  she,  "  you  wear  a  ring  on 


AZARIAN.  195 

your  first  finger,  which,  en  passant,  nobody 
but  shoemakers'  brides  do  in  Europe." 

"  But  everybody  does  in  America.  Azarian 
says  it  is  a  national  custom  here,  and  so  he' 
likes  it.  You  don't  want  to  wear  the  ring  on 
your  heart-finger  till  it  is  put  on  never  to  come 
off,  you  know." 

"  You  are  one  sentimental  elf.  And,  more- 
over, if  you  understood  yourself,  would  not 
so  feel.  Love  is  terribly  serious,  whereas  you 
talk  as  if  it  were  play." 

"  Terribly  serious,"  said  Ruth,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Yes,  —  a  tragedy  most  often.  De  vous  a 
moi,  —  women  must  have  excitement,  so  they 
find  their  pleasure  in  it.  They  act,  these  good 
women  who  won't  go  to  the  play  !  It  imports 
nothing,  a  ce  ct)mpte-la,  on  which  finger  the 
ring  is  worn,  1'index  ou  1'annulaire." 

"  I  will  tell  you  a  little  secret.  This  is 
not  my  engagement-ring  ;  Azarian  never  gave 
me  one.  It  is  Charmian's.  She  could  n't 


196  AZARIAN. 

see  which  finger  it  slipt  over ;  so  I  let  it 
stay." 

"  The  Charmian  !  You  knew  her,  then, 
•before  those  pictures,  you  demure  frileuse  ?  " 

"  Azarian  does  not  like  her." 

"  Hm  !  C'est  cela,  —  I  see."  And  Madame 
Saratov  did  not  suspect  that  her  clear  sight 
was  sharpened  by  a  certain  portrait  of  herself 
which  Azarian  had  lately  sketched  and  suf- 
fered her  to  behold  half  done,  without  its  final 
touches  of  tint  and  tone,  its  masque  of  shapely 
smiles  and  curves  and  rounded  color,  and 
where,  though  her  acquaintance  might  not  ac- 
knowledge it,  she  found  fearful  resemblance. 
"But  rings  are  neither  here  nor  there.  I  in- 
timate the  fact  behind,  the  betrothal.  Now 
will  you  tell  me  as  your  friend,  as  one  who 
has  had  of  experience,  who  sees  that  you  do 
need  help,  —  it  pains  me  the  heart,  —  as  to 
a  kind  woman,  —  why  you  marry  ?  Is  it  that 
you  tire  of  work,  that  you  want  a  —  what  is 


AZARIAN.  197 

this  you  call  it  —  home,  that  the  families  ar- 
ranged it,  that  you  find  yourself  entrapped, 
that,  as  your  poet  says,  returning  were  as  te- 
dious as  laisser  aller,  —  because  you  are  am- 
bitious, because  "  — 

"0  Madame  Saratov,  because,  because  I 
love  him !  " 

"  Pauvre  petite  !  " 

There  was  a  world  of  meaning  in  the  intona- 
tion and  the  silence.  It  was  beneath  Ruth's 
dignity  to  answer  its  aspersion.  She  clad 
her  lip  with  a  smile's  disguise. 

"  You  marry  him,  then,  because  you  love 
him.  Les  roses  tombent,  les  Opines  restent," 
she  hummed.  "  And  he,  —  does  he  love 
you  ?  " 

If  Ruth  had  risen  in  her  little  white  wrath, 
she  would  have  cut  a  very  ridiculous  figure. 
It  was,  besides,  too  late  an  hour  for  her  to 
leave  shelter. 

"  Pardon,  mille  fois,"  said  Madame  Sara- 


198  AZARIAN. 

tov,  reaching  across  and  putting  her  warm 
hand  on  the  cold  and  slender  arm.  "  I  wish 
to  make  you  a  difficult  service.  You  will 
hate  me,  detest  me,  yet  you  will  have  me  to 
thank." 

"  I  appreciate  the  wish  ;  but  I  do  not  need 
the  service,"  replied  Ruth,  proudly.  "No- 
body can  help  me,"  was  what  she  sighed  to 
herself. 

"  Qu'il  est  difficile  to  accept !  Well,  let  us 
frirget,"  said  Madame  Saratov,  tossing  her  wine 
into  the  grate,  where  it  flashed  up  the  chim- 
ney in  a  blue  fury  of  fire.  "  The  fact  is," 
said  she,  leaning  back  once  more,  and  fixing 
her  eyes  on  the  pale  gold  of  the  faded  ferns 
that  crowned  the  turquoise  vase  aloft  on  the 
bracket,  "  I  remember  me,  in  my  life,  of  some 
men,  the  very  imps  and  sprites  of  self,  whose 
ruin  marriage  would  complete  ;  they  were  as- 
sez  inte'resse's,  assez  despotiques,  les  tyran- 
neaux,  before ;  from  the  moment  the  wife 


AZARIAN.  199 

devoted  becomes  their  slave,  their  doom  is 
upon  them.  I  would  never  adjure  a  woman 
to  reject  them  by  her  own  hope  of  any  happi- 
ness, but  by  her  desire  for  their  salvation. 
True  marriage,  my  dear  girl,"  said  she,  turn- 
ing towards  Ruth  her  blue  eyes -that  glowed 
at  will,  "  ennobles,  purifies,  elevates  ;  but  how 
can  a  marriage  be  true  that  is  all  on  one  side, 
—  where  one  loves  and  the  other,  tout  agre*- 
ablement,  endures  ?  " 

"  Madame  Saratov,  I  see  what  you  mean ; 
yet  marriage  is  the  natural  condition  of  ma- 
turity ;  even  a  bad  and  selfish  man  must  there- 
fore be  a  better  one  if  he  has  a  wife.  If  it 
were  question  with  me,"  said  Ruth,  with  burn- 
ing cheeks,  "  of  marrying  such  a  man  as  those 
you  knew,  I  should  feel,  when  the  dazzle  of 
his  days  was  off,  how  dull  and  dreary  would 
they  wear  away.  I  would  bide  my  time,  I 
would  marry  him,  serve  him,  cheer  him,  be 
his  slave !  " 


200  AZARIAN. 

"Doubtless  you  would  be  happy  in  some 
sort.  Women  reap  the  glorious  joy  of  mar- 
tyrs. Mais  lui?" 

"  That  is  beyond  my  province." 

"  Certes !  In  crossing  this  slack-rope  of 
life,  you  would  declare,  it  suffices  to  attend 
one's  own  steps." 

"  No,"  said  Ruth,  falteringly.  "  I  say  that 
birth  and  death  and  marriage  are  three  great 
sacraments,  and,  partaking  them,  in  neither 
has  any  one  the  power  to  interfere  or  oppose 
a  will." 

"  Fataliste  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Saratov, 
with  a  laugh.  "  Years  of  discretion,  adieu  ! 
What  boon  to  distressed  suitors  !  Love  tilts 
a  entrance,  and  borrows  the  weapons  of  rea- 
son !  —  But  to  what  end  ?  C'est  un  cercle 
vicieux,"  said  she,  rising,  and  standing  with 
her  beautiful  arm  along  the  black  marble  of 
the  mantel.  "  One  is  married  and  done  with  ; 
when  life  shall  go  to  close,  the  sacrifice  it  has 


AZARIAN.  201 

demanded  may  have  stripped  off  all  grossness, 
and  one  soars.  But  he  ?  "  said  Madame  Sara- 
tov, her  head  upon  her  hand,  and  her  voice 
taking  a  dreamy  tone  as  she  fell  into  revery. 
"  One  has  so  served  him  that  he  failed  to  serve 
himself ;  he  has  attained  no  height  in  this  life, 
and,  shuddering  out  into  the  blackness,  a  poor, 
pitiful,  naked  thing  at  last,  what  can  his  pam- 
pered, stifled,  degraded  soul  do  but  stagger 
down,  down  "  — 

Ruth  rose,  too,  and  her  little  foot  scattered 
the  crimson  cushions  with  vehemence. 

"  Madame  Saratov,  if  you  play  with  fire,  you. 
will  be  burned !  "  said  she. 

The  lady  started.  "  Qu'as-tu  ?  What  have 
I  done  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Trespassed  on  forbid- 
den borders  ?  Do  you  know,"  she  asked,  rais- 
ing her  eyebrows  with  sudden  thought-dissi- 
pating effect,  "  how  they  used  to  fix  the  land- 
marks in  Germany  ?  Take  the  children  to 
the  spot  and  box  their  ears  there.  You  are 


202  AZARIAN. 

not  so  cruel,  'ma  petite  de"daigneuse  ?  Nay, 
but  I  pray  tliee  of  thy  clemency  !  that  she 
would  go  but  to  smile,  and  soniier  I'ange'lus ! 
Forgiven,  then,  at  last  ?  Let  us  see  how  the 
night  goes  a  la  belle  e*toile,"  said  she,  draw- 
"iug  the  unwilling  Ruth  with  her  to  the  win- 
dow, "Ah!  what  a  mite  you  are!"  and 
pulling  aside  the  curtain.  "  How  white  the 
moonlight  wraps  the  town  !  It  is  like  an  ema- 
nation from  all  the  sleep.  How  sublime  is 
this  sleep  !  —  the  way  in  which  man  trusts  the 
forces  to  do  without  him,  —  the  careless  reli- 
ance that  by  daybreak  the  world  will  have 
rolled  round  to  morning.  Striking  one.  It 
seems  to  me  at  night  as  if  the  stars  struck 
the  hours.'  How  that  spire  points  upward, 
and  leads  the  prayer ! 

'Vous  qui  pleurez,  venez  a  ce  Dieu,  car  il  pleure. 
Vous  qui  souffrez,  venez  a  lui,  car  il  gue'rit. 
Vous  qui  tremblez,  venez  a  lui,  car  il  sourit. 
Vous  qui  passez,  venez  a  lui,  car  il  demeure.'  " 


AZARIAN.  203 

And  Madame  Saratov  gave  Ruth  one  of  those 
lingering  kisses  which  some  women  have  the 
assurance  to  impress,  and  betook  herself  to 
her  prie-dieu,  at  which,  —  as  Ruth  watched 
her  from  a  dreamless  pillow,  —  in  her  own 
way,  she  seemed  to  find  satisfaction. 

Night  is  long  at  that  season,  and  Ruth  did 
not  slumber ;  yet  as  the  white  light  stole  into 
her  closet,  she  had  no  desire  to  rise ;  she 
would  have  liked  to  lie  forever  there  in  the 
soft  scented  sheets,  on  the  richly-laced  pillow ; 
she  folded  her  feet  and  her  hands,  she  fan- 
cied herself  to  be  dead.  But  when,  at  a  much 
later  hour,  Madame  Saratov  looked  in  with 
a  laugh,  she  lay  there  at  length  wrapped  in 
sleep,  white,  motionless,  and  perfect,  like  the 
pallid  sculpture  on  a  tomb.  It  was  after  a 
long  dream  that  she  stirred,  and  Isa  stood 
beside  her  with  a  cup  dispersing  cordial  odors. 
"  Madame  make  it  for  Mamselle,"  the  maiden 
declared,  "and  she  smile  to  herself  all  the 


204  AZARIAN. 

time  she  vas  do  it."  And  with  a  fresh  vigor 
coursing  through  every  limb,  Ruth  performed 
her  toilette;  felt  what  a  different  being  such 
daily  trifling  care  would  make  her  ;  descend- 
ing, found  that  Madame  Saratov,  in  a  fit  of 
compunction,  had  sent  round  for  Azarian ;  and 
made  her  breakfast  with  them  as  lightly  as  if 
no  cruel  purpose  had  essayed  to  set  its  crystal 
in  the  night-time.  Then  she  hastened  to  give 
her  hostess  a  little  lesson, —  a  lesson  never 
finished,  because  Azarian  had  brought  to  them 
a  book  of  his,  and  from  it  read  aloud,  —  Maud, 
—  that  fire -opal  distilled  to  melody.  After 
which  he  departed  upon  his  engagements,  and 
she,  with  the  sweet  sounds  still  singing  in  her 
head,  hastened  home  —  fearful  that  she  had 
been  wanting  on  the  night  before  —  to  choose 
for  Madame  Saratov  her  finest  boards,  her 
purest  tints,  and  in  a  book  containing  every 
charm  to  illustrate  the  Garden-Song. 


IV. 

BUT  as  soon  as  she  had  fairly  caught  her 
fancies,  Ruth  became  absorbed  in  them  so 
earnestly  as  half  to  dwarf  both  consciousness 
and  reflection  ;  she  expended  herself  in  let- 
tering the  text,  with  twisting  vines,  wings, 
petals,  and  floral  charactery  of  form  and  hue 
exquisite  as  the  work  of  some  old  monk  in  his 
cell,  in  pages  full  of  all  the  rich  confusion  of 
fragrance  and  bloom  sealed  in  the  verse, — 
one  leaf  a  single  listening  lily,  —  another,  the 
little  foot-print  that  the  March  wind  had  set 
in  tufts  of  bluest  violets,  —  a  third,  a  mass  and 
strew  and  tangle  of  flowers,  as  if  thrown  down 
from  a  tired  hand  with  the  dew  yet  trembling 
on  their  sprays, —  here  and  there  dainty  vig- 
nettes,— just  a  bough  with  its  waking  bird 


206  AZARIAN. 

and  setting  moon,  entwined  by  rose  and  jas- 
mine, and  signed  at  foot  with  graceful  inter- 
mixture of  the  curves  of  violin  and  bassoon, — 
the  simple  gateway  wound  in  woodbine,  and 
far  off,  a  mere  outline  among  the  curling 
clouds,  the  black  bat  hastening  away,  —  the 
planet  fainting  on  its  daffodil  sky,  —  the  old 
grave  thrilled  and  blossoming  out  in  purple 
and  red,  —  the  two  lovers  met  at  last  in  each 
other's  arms.  When  it  was  over,  and  the  fe- 
ver of  design  had  faded,  "  Ah,  well,"  sighed 
Ruth  to  herself,  "  what  have  artists  to  do  with 
love  ?  I  was  happy  while  I  did  that."  But 
happy  or  not,  its  fire  had  burned  out  her 
strength ;  she  could  do  no  more.  "  I  wish, 
I  wish,"  said  little  Euth,  "  that  I  had  some- 
body to  take  care  of  me  !  " 

Azarian  had  dropped  in  once  or  twice  since 
she  began  the  opuscule ;  no  doubt  he  had 
intended  to  come  oftener,  had  not  some  new 
thing  interfered,  —  it  took  only  trifles  to  de- 


AZARIAN.  207 

tacli  the  last  impression  from  Azariaii ;  and 
Ruth,  having  put  other  things'  out  of  mind 
with  all  her  might,  had  nothing  but  her  work 
to  talk  about,  and  with  that  she  had  wished 
to  surprise  himl  and  therefore  afforded  small 
entertainment.  Still,  what  lover  needs  that 
his  mistress  should  speak  in  order  to  please  ? 

Ruth,  through  her  work,  had  been  inno- 
cently dallying  with  fate  ;  she  had  given  her- 
self brief  reprieve,  in  vague  hope  of  full  remis- 
sion. "  In  this  fortnight,"  she  had  thought, 
"  he  may  find  that  he  needs  me." 

But  it  was  not  in  that  fortnight  that  Aza- 
rian  found  it. 

The  lonely  child  •  waited  a  day  or  two  ^in 
order  to  please  this  lover  with  her  book  ;  but 
he  did  not  come  ;  and  knowing  that  it  would 
please  him  equally  well  at  Madame  Saratov's, 
and  probably  much  sooner,  she  sallied  forth 
with  it,  —  first  looking  in  at  the  print-shop  to 
find  her  things  undisturbed  in  their  portfolio, 


208  AZARIAN. 

and  no  balance  in  her  favor.  The  salesman 
assured  her  they  would  disappear  in  time ;  but 
time  meant  existence  itself  to  Ruth,  who  had 
not  breakfasted  that  morning. 

It  was  by  some  oversight  that  Isa  suffered 
Ruth  to  enter  without  announcing  her. 

Madame  Saratov,  clad  in  her  gown  of  green 
Genoa  velvet,  and  the  golden  coil  of  her  hair 
behind  wreathed  round  with  slender  peacock 
feathers  of  gorgeous  green  and  gojd,  stood  and 
held  aloft  in  her  hand  a  vase,  the  white  Witch 
vase.  "  It  should  have  a  jewelled  tripod ! " 
she  was  exclaiming. 

"  It  has  it  now,"  said  Azariau,  who  had  been 
sitting  on  a  cushion  near  her  feet,  and  still 
retained  his  position.  "  Always  hold  it,  Bac- 
chante !  it  is  for  you !  "  fascinated  in  her 
not  at  all  just  then  as  a  woman,  but  suddenly 
seized  with  the  sense  of  her  artistic  faultless- 
ness.  "  As  near  Heaven  as  I  shall  ever  reach, 
on  the  whole." 


AZARIAN.  209 

"  You  make  me  of  compliments  all  the 
days  !  For  me  ?  "  And  Madame  Saratov 
slowly  turned  and  laid  her  eyes  upon  him. 
"  This  one  ouvrage,  this  finiment  of  your  life  ? 
Is  it  that  a  lover  does  not  lay  such  result  at  his 
lady's  feet  ?  For  me  ?  Pourquoi  pas  pour 
elle  ?  —  No,  no,"  she  added,  instantly  and  dep- 
recatingly,  with  a  wave  of  the  other  hand. 
"  It  is  as  if  a  moonbeam  had  carved  it  on 
snow.  I  shall  keep  it  forever  as  the  treasure 
of  my  house.  C'est  divin,  mais  "  — 

"  Was  Madame  exiled,"  said  Azarian,  cool- 
ly, "  for  an  insane  interest  in  other  people's 
affairs  ?  " 

Madame  Saratov  laughed,  and  took  a  step 
towards  him.  "  Bien  !  "  said  she.  "  I  con- 
fess the  impeachment.  It  affords  me  opportu- 
nity, de  plus.  Do  you  know  that  somebody's 
body  is  wearing  so  thin  that  the  soul' arrives 
to  look  through  ?  I  spoke  with  her  not  long 
ago,  I,  your  poor  slave,  sir  !  "  beating  her  foot 


210  AZARIAN. 

on  the  carpet.  "  She  was  impenetrable  as  a 
little  gem.  Monsieur,  my  good  friend  Aza- 
rian,  if  you  love  the  child,  why  do  you  neglect 
her  so  ?  If  you  have  need  of  her,  why  do  you 
break  her  heart  ?  " 

If  Madame  Saratov  had  looked  in  Azarian's 
face  as  he  lifted  his  length,  she  might  not  have 
dared  to  continue.  It  was  quite  as  well, 
though,  for  the  anger  passed  like  all  his  other 
flashes ;  and  when  she  raised  her  glance,  he 
wore  the  old  mocking  smile  and  witty  bra- 
vado. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  do'  need  her !  "  said 
he. 

Just  then  a  hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm. 
The  vase  dropped  from  Madame  Saratov's 
grasp,  and  fell  in  twenty  pieces  on  the  floor. 
.Ruth,  in  hesitation,  had  come  gliding  across 
the  room,  and  round  the  open  screen  of  rosy 
damask,  in  time  to  hear  this  last.  With  a 
little  cry,  she  stooped  to  gather  the  fragments. 


AZARIAN.  211 

Madame  Saratov  was  in  despair.  A  thunder- 
cloud charged  with  lightning  swept  across 
Azarian's  brow  and  was  gone  ;  he  dropped  the 
black  fringes  over  his  luminous  eyes,  and  then 
laughed.  "  So  much  for  lying.  Ci-git,"  sajd 
he.  "  Isa,  here  are  some  crumbs  of  the  bread 
of  life  for  you  to  sweep  up.  —  How  is  my  little 
maid  this  morning  ?  " 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Azarian.  It  was  quite  my 
fault.  I  could  n't  find  my  voice  "  — 

"  Not  at  all.  She  was  getting  up  a  scene," 
he  said,  in  a  stage-whisper,  indicating  the 
other  lady. 

"  How  can  he  forgive  me !  "  exclaimed  Mad- 
ame Saratov;  in  her  guilt,  her  hands  upon  her 
face. 

"  By  commencing  another  straightway.  We 
won't  make  it  wearisome.  Ruth,  what  affair 
is  that  ?  " 

Ruth  laid  her  gift  upon  a  table,  —  it  was 
too  insignificant  to  repair  such  disaster,  —  then 


212  AZARIAK. 

came  to  him  and  murmured,  "  I  should  like 
to  see  you,  if  you  please,  this  evening." 

He  looked  down  on  her  white  face,  her  dark 
beseeching  eyes,  he  did  not  wish  to  be  re- 
proached, they  steeled  him.  Moreover,  had 
not  the  accident  come  through  her  means  ? 

"  Very  well,  perhaps  so,"  said  he. 

"  No,  but  certainly,  dear.  It  is  as  much  as 
life  or  death,"  she  urged,  almost  inaudibly. 

"Send  for  the  doctor,  quick,  —  a  pill, — 
we  '11  have  a  dose  of  calomel  ?  " 

"  Azarian  "  — 

"Well,  I'll  see.  Perhaps  so,"  possessing 
himself  of  the  little  book.  "  Ah !  what  have 
we  here?  'Apples  of  Syria  and  Turkish 
quinces,  and  mountain  peaches,  and  jasmine, 
and  Syrian  lotus-roots,  and  myrobalans  of 
Uklamon,  and  hill  citrons,  and  Sooltan  oran- 
ges, and  sweet-scented  myrtle,  and  camomile, 
and  anemonies,  and  violets,  and  pomegranate- 
flowers,  and  narcissus-blossoms,  and  put  the 


AZARIAN.  213 

whole  down  into  the  porter's  hamper,'  "  quoted 
the  Panjandrum.  "  By  Jove,  that  is  delicious ! 
Wipe  your  weeping  eyes,  my  friend,  and  be 
charmed." 

"  There  are  three  minutes  that  I  have  de- 
stroyed the  most  perfect,  the  most  priceless  — 
and  he  asks  me  to  amuse  myself! "  cried 
Madame  Saratov. 

"  Mad-ame  must  not  concern  herself,"  ex- 
claimed Azarian.  "  She  ought  to  know  me 
well  enough  by  this  time  never  to  afford  cre- 
dence to  a  word  I  say.  I  have  at  home,  believe 
me,  at  least  a  dozen,  equally  priceless,  more 
perfect." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  believe  you,  —  in  splinters!" 
-  "  Come.      I  fancy  you  have  done  me  im- 
mense   service.      I    gloated   over  the   thing. 
Now,  if  the  fates  conspire,  I  may  produce  in- 
deed.    You  establish  an  era." 

"  You  are  very  philosophic.  But  all  calm 
as  you  are  "  — 


214  AZARIAN. 

"It  seems  to  me,  if  I  had  received  such 
illustrations  to  the  Garden -Song  as  these,  I 
should  not  sit  with  my  face  in  my  hands." 

"  Azarian,  dear  !  " 

"  My  little  Ruth,  ma  douce  consolatrice  !  " 

"  There  's  jasmine  for  you !  Ah !  that  acacia 
stifles  one,  it  is  so  sweet.  What  a  passion- 
flower !  it  is  full  of  torrid  life,  with  its  spikes 
and  anthers ;  it  is  the  soul  of  the  glowing  East ; 
I  seem  to  see  it  sprawling  over  the  swart 
sands  !  When  the  new  earth  is  made,  Ruth, 
you  will  have  to  be  taken  into  the  councils. 
But  that  is  a  pretty  notion,  — the  light  falling 
from  above  on  the  little  head  with  its  gloss 
of  curls,  and  just  the  outline  of  the  brow  be- 
gun. You  are  a  genius,  Ruth !  —  The  power  Js 
not  all  lost,  is  it  ?  I  have  n't  absorbed  it  all, 
eh,  Ruth  ?  "  and  he  looked  •  down  askance 
where  she  sat  behind  him  on  the  hassock,  the 
sudden  pleased  red  on  her  forgetful  cheek, 
her  eyes  and  her  instant  smile  full  of  the  sun- 


AZARIAN.  215 

light  that,  stealing  in  through  the  crevice  of 
a  parting  curtain,  gilded  the  stray  locks  about 
her  face,  heightened  her  color,  and  overlaid 
her. .  He  reached  back  his  hand  and  placed 
it  on  her  hair  a  moment,  then  returned  to  the 
pictures.  The  sunbeam  went,  the  smile  went 
too.  Ruth  rose,  saying  drearily  to  herself  that 
it  was  going  to  rain,  as  outward  things  affect 
one  mechanically  after  any  blow.  She  hung 
a  second  on  Azarian's  arm.  The  pretty  work, 
the  pretty  smile,  had  melted  his  rigor.  "  You 
are  going  ?  "  said  he.  "  Well,  then,  expect 
me  for  sentence  this  evening." 

"  Surely,  Azarian  ?  " 

"  So  sure  as  twilight.  Nay,  shall  I  swear 
it,  -doubter  ?  The  angel  records  an  oath  in 
Heaven's  chancery,  —  and  blots  it  out  with 
his  tears,  very  like,"  lie  added,  lightly,  in  un- 
dertone. "  Till  then  !  " 

"Ah,  mignonne,  must  you  go?  Do  not 
bring  such  mischief  when  you  come  again.  I 


216  AZAEIAN. 

am  inconsolable  !  I  shall  not  go  out  to  dine 
to-day !  " 

"  Yes,  you  will,"  said  Azarian.  "  For  here 
is  the  carriage  at  the  door,  and  you  may  drop 
my  little  Ruth  at  hers."  So  he  closed  the 
panel  upon  them,  and  was  away  to  his  pa- 
tients, of  whom,  on  his  rounds  that  day,  he 
had  made  Madame  Saratov  one. 

Ruth  sat  quietly  opposite  Madame  Saratov, 
—  who  had  partially  forgotten  her  recent  par- 
oxysms, and  made  only  comical  little  allusions 
to  them,  —  smiled  at  her  gay  words,  which 
seemed  to  strike  somewhere  a  great  way  out- 
side of  her,  kept  herself  down  as  if  compressed 
by  iron  bonds  till  the  carriage  stopped.  Then 
she  ran  breathlessly  up-stairs,  shut  her  door 
swiftly,  and  locked  it,  and,  bursting  through 
all  her  bonds,  cried  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "I 
don't  know  that  I  do  need  her !  "  She  fell 
upon  the  floor,  hiding  her  face,  the  blank  side 
of  the  universe  turned  upon  her,  utter  nega- 


AZARIAN.  217 

tion,  a  kind  of  stupor.  The  pain  passed  at 
length,  for  her  memory  only  repeated  the 
words  and  drew  no  meaning  from  them. 
Gradually  she  began  to  feel  there  was  some- 
thing wrong;  she  strove  to  gather  calm,  to 
» 

obtain  the  upper  hand  of  herself  once  more, 
and,  when  that  was  done,  she  crowded  all  her 
thoughts  down,  till  the  evening  should  let 
them  rise  and  shake  their  dismal  vans  be- 
fore Azarian's  eyes. 

Meanwhile  Ruth  turned  to  the  wants  of  the 
day.  She  was  faint,  and  needed  strength. 
There  was  little  left  in  her  rooms  for  the 
pawnbroker ;  she  hated  to  denude  this  one 
further  till  Azarian  should  have  come  and 
gone  ;  she  took  some  trifle,  and,  going  out  in 
the  soft  showers,  disposed  of  it  for  a  where- 
withal to  dine  upon,  forcing  herself  to  eat ; 
but  she  had  no  longer  the  spur  that  once  she 
had  in  the  first  blast  of  poverty  ;  each  time 
the  process  grew  more  insupportable ;  and, 


218  AZARIAN. 

so  humble  to  Azarian  that,  in  order  to  keep 
upright,  she  must  needs  be  proud  to  all  the 
world  beside,  she  thought  she  would  sooner 
starve  than  resort  to  such  method  again. 
Later  in  the  day,  she  busied  herself  putting 
the  place  into  the  most  exquisite  order;  —  a 
little  basket  of  grapes  that  some  unknown  one 
had  sent  her  she  would  not  touch,  —  grapes 
will  not  keep  one  alive,  —  saving  them  for  the 
evening;  but,  directly,  she  saw  in  that  very 
act  a  hope,  and  impetuously  dashed  them  out 
of  the  window,  where  a  parcel  of  young  rag- 
amuffins seized  upon  them  as  the  generous 
bounty  of  the  skies. 

Ever  since  that  night  with  Madame  Saratov, 
ever  since  that  noon  with  Azarian,  Ruth  had 
indistinctly  meant  to  assert  herself,  —  yet  had 
postponed  the  evil  day.  She  had  scarcely 
dared  to  do  more  than  dream  of  parting,  — 
that  so  sucks  the  strength  out  of  the  future, 
and  suffocates  the  soul  beneath  the  accumu- 


AZARIAN.  219 

lation  of  the  past.  She  still  held  faint  pallid 
pictures  of  the  long  life  with  him,  even  if  it 
were  sacrificed  to  him  ;  she  had  thought  of  a 
hearth  almost  happy;  she  had  suffered  some- 
where in  the  inmost  recesses  a  thrilling  hope, 
unwhispered,  unheard,  of  the  ruddy  firelight 
playing  on  little  heads,  each  one  of  which 
should  wear  his  brow,  his  eyes,  should  make 
her  dearer,  should  win  him  nearer ;  she  had 
an  insight  of  that  advancing  hour  that  none 
but  she  could  soothe ;  she  sought  with  all  the 
wild  rushing  of  her  love  to  be  the  one  to  lead 
him  upward,  to  do  him  loyal  service ;  she 
abased  herself  in  her  thought  and  put  her 
heart  beneath  his  feet, — her  whole  nature  sud- 
denly went  out  to  him  in  clamorous  longing. 
And  then  again  those  words  of  the  morning 
fell  on  her  like  ice-drops  ;  she  bent  her  head 
in  a,  storm  of  tears,  and  when  they  cleared, 
though  she  had  never  written  him  word  or 
message  before,  she  found  herself  pencilling 


220  AZARIAN. 

along  her  drawing-paper,  "  Till  you  need  me, 
Azarian, —  till  you  need  me."  She  wanted 
to  be  the  whole  world  to  him.  She  found 
herself  almost  nothing.  Something  must  be 
done  that  evening;  it  was  right  for  no  love 
to  continue  on  such  ignoble  terms ! 

Poor  little  Euth  thought  then  all  had 
reached  an  end.  She  did  not  know  how 
deeply  she  was  cherishing  yet  one  last  hope, 
until  the  twilight  passed  and  he  had  not  come. 
She  sat  at  the  window  after  the  dark  had 
fallen,  straining  her  gaze  as  she  searched  the 
long,  wide,  lonely  square,  where  the  gas-light 
flickered  in  the  wind  and  laid-  its  fickle  lustre 
in  the  black  and  shallow  pools.  The  rain 
lashed  along  the'  pane,  the  gale  sighed  and 
sobbed  about  the  house  or  mounted  and  shook 
the  casement  and  lulled  away  again,  the 
great  shadow  stretched  along  the  earth  and 
grew  deeper  and  immense,  —  no  one  came. 
A  wild  wet  night,  —  few  braved  it,  few  trav- 


AZARIAN.  221 

ersed  the  spot ;  all  were  housed  with  their 
homes,  their  friends,  their  fires.  —  A  stir  with- 
out in  the  solitary  space.  Was  it  a  footfall  ? 
the  spark  of  a  cigar  ?  the  long  lessening 
shadow,  —  that  was  he  !  She  ran  to  light  her 
candle,  to  compose  her  dress  ;  she  waited  with 
her  breath  between  her  teelh  for  the  hall-door 
to  slain.  All  was  silent ;  there  came  no  sound, 
no  turning  lock,  no  step  on  the  stair,  no  shak- 
ing off  of  the  rain,  —  her  heart  sank  down  a 
sickening  gulf;  she  blew  out  the  light  again. 
A  long  hour  full  of  keen  quick  pangs, — 
ah!  who  has  not  known  them,  the  heat  tear- 
ing up  and  down  the  veins,  the  quenching 
hopes,  the  wild  despair  ?  —  The  clock  struck, 
tolled  out  remorselessly  its  nine  iron  strokes ; 
it  would  soon  be  too  late  to  expect  him ; 
eagerness,  impatience,  fear,  all  fevered  her, 
her  pulses  began  to  throb  with  liquid  fire. 
She  had  so  determined  that  he  would  come, 
so  set  her  heart  upon  it,  if  he  loved  her  in  the 


222  AZARIAN. 

least  it  would  be  impossible  be  should  fail. 
Ah !  how  dismal  it  looks  !  she  thought,  —  com- 
ing from  delightsome  places,  no  wonder  he 
will  not  want  to  stay.  There  was  yet  some 
coal  in  her  grate,  laid  in  the  spring  and  im- 
kindled  during  all  the  summer ;  she  touched 
a  match  to  the  wi'sp  of  paper  beneath,  and 
sent  its  crackle  and  sparkle  up  the  chimney 
till  they  fell  to  a  soft  deep  blaze,  where  the 
colored  exhalations  of  liquescent  jewels  seemed 
to  stir  and  hover.  How  warm  the  room  was 
then  !  She  threw  up  the  window,  and  leaned 
out  into  the  southerly  gale ;  the  rain  beat  upon 
her  temples  and  cooled  them ;  she  seemed  to 
see  forms  flitting  far  down  the  distance  ;  could 
that  be  —  was  —  ah,  no  !  only  the  gas-light 
flaring  in  the  wind  and  tossing  its  shadows 
about  the  long,  wide,  lonely  square.  "0 
Azariau,  how  can  you  treat  me  so !  "  she  cried 
aloud. 

One,  —  two,  —  three,  —  the  clock  was  peal- 


AZARIAN.  223 

ing  ten.  She  went  for  her  dressing-case  ;  she 
let  down  her  hair  warm  and  loose  in  the  back 
of  her  neck ;  she  brushed  it  till  it  tingled  all 
through  its  length  with  fires  and  darks,  till 
her  head  burned  and  her  brain  -grew  clear. 
He  would  come  yet,  she  insisted,  she  was  posi- 
tive of  it. 

There  rose  the  noise  of  wheels,  —  ah !  to  be 
sure,  —  he  had  been  detained,  and  would  not 
walk  in  all  the  storm.  She  twisted  the  tresses 
into  a  knot,  her  heart  shook  the  chair  that 
held  her ;  she  forgot  reproach,  separation ;  she 
sprang  to  meet  him  with  passionate  welcome, 
—  swiftly  and  indifferently  the  coach  rolled  by. 
Others  followed  ;  they  returned  from  the  thea- 
tres ;  none  of  them  knew  of  the  tragedy  in  the 
life  of  the  little  girl  up  there  in  the  blazing 
window.  She  had  been  so  confident,  that  the 
reverse  shocked  her  stiff;  she  leaned  there, 
and  in  the  last  fierce  shower  of  the  breaking 
tempest  let  the  rain-torrents  dash  about  her. 


224  AZARIAN. 

Perhaps  he  would  not  come  at  all ;  the  doubt 
was  so  like  certainty  that  it  swallowed  breath 
and  palpitation. 

There  he  was  at  last !  Why  had  she  lost 
the  step  ?  Life  and  strength  and  joy  surged 
up  again  at  the  sound.  The  key  rattled  in 
the  door.  He  would  be  here  after  an  instant. 
How  he  would  come  in,  in  his  gay  way,  saying 
not  a  word,  cheeks  flushed  with  the  weather, 
eyes  shining  beneath  the  brim  slouched  like 
a  brigand's,  open  his  arms,  his  great  shaggy 
coat,  shut  her  in  under  all  the  rain-drops,  feel 
her  heart  beating,  kiss  her  first  on  the  fore- 
head, —  her  face  was  aglow  with  smiles,  — 
and  all  the  night's  tumult  for  nothing  — . 

And  then  the  heavy  step  of  a  lodger  passed 
her  door  and  went  higher. 

She  flashed  the  window  down,  she  walked 
the  room  like  one  caged,  she  held  her  hands 
tightly  griped  that  she  might  not  wring  them. 

How  the  minutes  dragged  and  dragged  and 


AZARIAN.  225 

dragged.  Eleven  o'clock.  She  would  not 
look  for  him  again  ;  it  would  be  of  no  use 
if  he  did  come  ;  it  would  be  only  to  say  good 
night ;  but  oh  what  cheer  in  the  sound  of  that 
single  word  !  She  would  go  to  bed,  but  she 
could  not  sleep.  The  next  step  found  her  at 
the  window,  peering  through  the  pane,  out 
where  the  desolate  lamp  flung  about  its  wild 
shadows  on  the  glowering  darkness,  where  the 
drops  yet  pattered  from  the  boughs,  dripped 
from  the  eaves,  and  the  tossing  flashes  lit  up 
the  emptiness  of  the  great  lonely  square. 

There  was  no  more  rain  ;  the  warm  wind 
had  risen  and  sent  the  scudding  clouds  to  sea 
in  tattered  shreds  ;  here  and  there  a  star  ap- 
peared, mild  and  hazy,  like  soft  summer  stars  ; 
it  was  the  dawn  of  the  Indian  summer  of  the 
year.  But  Ruth  felt  as  though  never  again 
for  her  would  there  be  any  summer  in  the 
soul.  All  the  sudden  swift  anticipations  that 

had  met  her  with  shining  faces,  like  glorious 
10*  o 


226  AZARIAN. 

ghosts,  had  turned  their  backs  upon  her  in 
flying,  —  black  disappointments.  They  were 
but  trifles,  —  yet  what  sorrow  they  drew  in 
their  train,*  what  mood  of  anguish  they  super- 
induced !  Hot,  parched,  weary  work,  over  at 
length ;  the  eyes  ached,  the  cheeks  had  left 
burning,  the  hands  were  cold  and  wet,  the 
nerves  were  all  aslack.  Her  heart  felt  too 
heavy  to  flutter  any  more. 

Twelve  o'clock  of  a  starlight  night.  She 
had  ceased  to  expect  him  now ;  but  it  had  all 
passed  beyond  her  control,  and  still  she  sat 
there.  They  that  have  looked  for  one  who 
came  not,  and  on  whom  their  very  life  hung, 
know  what  a  vigil  was  that. 

Ruth  may  have  slept  in  her  chair  at  last, 
for  when  she  looked  up  again,  the  day  was 
breaking,  breaking  over  the  house-tops  in  its 
deep  tender  prime.  Whoever  has  known  that 
perfect  hour  in  the  country  can  still  feel  its 


AZARIAN.  227 

spell  in  the  city,  when  far  and  near  the  wide 
firmament  broods  over  its  soft  dream  of 
light.  But  Ruth  felt  nothing,  remembered 
nothing,  just  now  ;  she  only  saw  down  the 
gap  of  a  street  the  morning  star  sinking 
back  like  a  great  watery  chrysolite  and  melt- 
ing in  depths  of  golden  vapor  ;  she  had  a  vague 
feeling  that  it  was  her  own  being  dissolving 
there  in  the  red  fumes  of  the  sun,  till  sud- 
denly she  recalled  the  chrysolite  upon  her 
finger,  and  all  the  turmoil  and  passion  of 
the  night  rose  with  it.  But  she  was  too  weary 
for  any  thought;  things  passed  before  her 
eyes,  and  made  their  own  impression  ;  she  had 
not  even  the  volition  to  receive  them.  She 
saw  all  the  roofs  lie  dark  and  glittering  in 
the  gray  with  their  wet  slopes,  then  steam  in 
censers  of  curling  filmy  threads ;  one  spire 
studded  its  base  with  rubies,  just  above  great 
pearly  clouds  flocked  and  floated  on,  then 
high  and  clear  bloomed  out  the  faint  fresh 


228  AZARIAN. 

azure ;  borne  on  cool  morning  winds  a  rack 
of  rosy  mist  soared  up  and  sailed  away,  and 
slantwise  round  the  corner  of  the  eaves  a  sun- 
beam touched  her  face.  Slowly  the  city  be- 
gan to  plume  itself  in  smoke  ;  Ruth  watched 
the  slender  stream  that  left  one  chimney,  and 
dissipated  itself  up  high  in  the  airy  sparkling 
heaven,  idly  fancied  the  hearth  far  below  from 
which  it  rose,  the  bright  breakfast-table,  with 
its  cheery  faces,  saw  by  and  by  the  children 
trooping  forth  to  school,  then  turned  her  eyes 
inward.  It  was  noon  before  she  moved.  She 
was  unconscious  of  time,  felt  no  hunger,  for- 
got her  toilet.  All  her  sensations  clustered 
at  one  point,  —  she  was  waiting  for  Azarian. 
The  shriek  of  the  trains  swooping  down  upon 
the  city  had  not  roused  her  ;  but  here  the  ful- 
gurant  clangor  of  the  great  steel  bells  startled 
the  air,  and  their  reverberation  seemed  to  shat- 
ter itself  in  her  frame.  Ruth  always  loved 
bells,  —  used  to  shiver  with  their  slow  toll, 


AZARIAN.  229 

to  let  the  blood  in  her  heart  leap  exultantly 
with  their  showering  peals,  felt  always  all  at- 
tuned to  the  great  tone  that  pulsed  from  par- 
ticle to  particle  throughout  their  sonorous  ex- 
panses,—  so  musical,  so  ravishing,  she  had 
wondered  they  should  have  to  do  with  hands, 
—  would  have  had  them  swinging,  ringing,  in 
the  blue  dome  by  unseen  agencies.  Now  she 
rose,  caught  sight  of  her  face  in  the  glass, 
went  and  bathed  and  indued  fresh  raiment, 
lay  down  on  her  lounge  and  tried  to  sleep. 
Vain  effort :  all  her  love  for  Azarian  was  beat- 
ing its  life  out  wildly  in  her  bounding  heart ; 
all  her  wrongs  from  him  rushed  up  in  wave 
on  wave  to  drown  the  struggling  passion.  The 
greatest  wrong  of  all  made  the  very  heart 
stand  still ;  but  for  him  she  could  have  prayed. 
In  this  her  need  she  could  have  found  help. 
"When  she  came  to  him  with  all  her  nascent 
faith,  her  holy  hopes,  he  had  laughed  at  them, 
silenced  her  words,  stifled  her  thoughts.  For, 


230  AZARIAN. 

whatever  should  be  grafted  on  hereafter,  Aza- 
rian  had  to-day  no  religious  element  in  his 
nature ;  his  cold  intellect  might  stand  bare- 
headed without,  and  watch  the  sun  strike  up 
the  painted  windows,  —  he  had  never  entered 
and  become  transmuted  in  the  rosy  warmth 
and  amethystine  glow  of  prayer.  He  had  made 
himself  the  absorbent  of  all  Ruth's  power  and 
aspiration,  and  in  his  exhausting  atmosphere, 
if  her  devotion  were  not  dead,  it  was  at  least 
in  syncope.  She  could  not  pray ;  she  had 
lost  the  language  ;  she  had  made  herself  so 
remote ;  she  felt  that  there  was  nothing  to 
hear  her  should  she  call.  Yet  had  he  been 
but  constant !  Her  friend,  her  religion,  her 
love,  —  he  had  taken  them  all,  prevented  her 
power,  drained  her  strength,  and  in  return  he 
had  given  her  nothing,  nothing ;  he  did  not 
care  for  her,  he  had  no  need  of  her,  —  so  little 
would  have  contented  her,  —  such  a  breath 
of  tenderness  would  have  kept  her  warm,  — 


AZARIAN.  231 

and  thinking  of  these  things,  Ruth  cried  out 
that  she  was  forsaken,  that  she  was  alone,  that 
she  was  all  alone  in  the  world.  Why  did  not 
Azarian  come  ?  There  were  double  reasons 
that  he  should,  —  and  those  words  to  explain  ! 
Was  it  possible,  was  it  possible  that  he  never 
meant  to  come  again  ?  She  tried  to  say  that 
she  wanted  no  return  for  all  she  gave.  She 
tried  to  persuade  herself  that  she  was  wrong, 
that  he  had  delayed  a  hundred  times  before,  — 
why  should  this  once  be  life  or  death  ?  Oh, 
she  had  made  it  so !  It  is  from  the  spark 
that  the  forest  flames.  She  had  wrought  her- 
self to  that  frantic  pitch  that  listens  to  noth- 
ing, to  that  intense  state  wherein  one  perhaps 
sees  the  truer  relations  of  magnitudes,  where 
nothing  is  small,-  all  great.  She  was  prostrate, 
and  the  chances  swept  on  above,  as  remote 
from  her  reach  as  any  mighty  wind  that  roars 
through  a  black  and  hollow  sky.  All  crea- 
tion hung  on  the  yea  or  nay  of  his  coming. 


232  AZARIAN. 

She  lay  there  with  such  a  hearkening  ear  now 
as  the  hours  wore  on,  flushing  and  paling, 
shaking  with  such  great  tremors,  her  breath 
like  little  gusts  of  flame,  half  beside  herself 
through  suffering,  excitement,  inanition,  ex- 
haustion, that  life  seemed  of  no  worth  but  to 
keep  her  keenly  attempered  to  pain.  And  of 
what  worth  was  it  ?  "Who  valued  it  ?  No- 
body. Nobody  in  the  wide  world.  "Why  should 
she  keep  it  ?  And  she  turned  her  face  to  the 
wall.  —  Gently  the  day  withdrew,  strained  all 
the  golden  light  from  its  rich  lees  in  sunset, 
and  soft  purple  glooms  wrapped  the  earth  and 
brought  the  stars  down  nearer  as  one  by  one 
they  trembled  into  life.  Ruth  sat  up  and 
pushed  back  her  hair,  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  The  perfumes  of  all  her  untended 
flowers  floated  themselves  across  to  soothe  her, 
but  she  did  not  regard  them.  A  little  fitful 
breeze  tapped  the  bare  vine-stem  against  the 
pane,  but  she  did  not  let  it  in.  Some  prayer- 


AZAEIAN.  233 

meeting  bell  was  tolling  seven,  —  she  covered 
her  ears  with  her  hands.  It  was  utterly  im- 
possible that  she  should  re-enact  last  night ; 
she  had  neither  the  vigor  nor  the  spirit  for  it ; 
she  shuddered  at  the  thought,  the  fear,  —  all 
her  nerves  were  torn  to  pieces.  What  should 
she  do  ?  Go  out  ?  And  perhaps  miss  seeing 
him !  Remain  ?  And  endure  the  torture. 
She  remained.  Still  waiting,  all  alert,  there 
came  across  her  wildness  brief  lulls,  moments 
of  reflection.  The  words  of  Madame  Saratov 
rung  in  her  remembrance  :  she  thought  if,  by 
her  untiring  service,  she  were  only  to  weaken 
and  degrade  his  soul,  would  it  not  be  best  to 
let  him  leave  her.  "  How  can  I  let  him  leave 
me,"  she  said,  "  when  the  very  fear  of  it  gives 
me  this  agony  ?  I  have  not  the  strength  to 
let  him  leave  me,  —  and  live.  And  live? 
Where  is  the  need  ?  Well,  then,  why  not 
die  ?  Leave  ?  He  has  already  left !  I  am 
so  tired, — .0  God,  why  don't  you  take  me  ?  " 


234  AZAR1AN. 

Suddenly  Ruth  sprang  to  her  feet.  Take  her  ? 
—  why  not  go  ? 

Yet  she  trembled.  —  And  if  he  came . 

She  stood  waiting,  with  her  hands  clasped  on 
the  table  before  her.  When  the  clock  should 

strike  eight .    What  an  eternity  that  was ! 

Sparkling  on  the  fixed  strain  of  the  moment 
a  thousand  happy  vanities  started  up  and  made 
darker  the  gloom  that  swallowed  them.  She 
laughed  grimly  at  herself,  and  asked  if  every 
girl  who  lost  a  lover  were  mad  as  she.  The 
question  was  another  goad.  Let  her  hurry 
to  escape  her  humiliation  !  Let  her  bury  her 
sorrow  and  her  shame  out  of  the  light  J  Let 
her  perish  with  it !  And  then  the  awfulness 
of  death  smote  her  in  the  face.  Here  now, 
burning,  breathing,  beating,  —  and  then  ?  0 
terrible  unknown  !  and  then  ?  Coming  with 
all  her  vivid  life,  what  dreadful  power  was  that 
which  could  give  it  so  sudden  extinction  ?  The 
white  cold  horror  whelmed  her ;  yet  better 


AZARIAN.  235 

that  than  this,  —  at  least  it  would  be  rest.  It 
would  be  brief,  —  and  then  it  would  be  over. 
Her  forehead  was  wet,  her  heart  struck  her 
side  with  blows  that  one  could  hear ;  still  she 
was  waiting,  waiting,  and  all  became  lost  in 
the  rigidity  of  her  purpose. 

Slowly,  sweetly,  unconsciously,  the  peal 
parted  the  air,  and  fell,  fell  softly  down 
through  the  listening  night,  lingering  and 
loitering,  and  quivered  into  silence!  Its  tone 
still  swam  upon  the  ear  when  Ruth  was  on 
the  pavement,  flying  with  fleet  feet  to  find 
her  fate.  Step  after  step,  in  some  swift  mech- 
anism of  violent  will,  on,  on,  rapid  and  sure. 
This  was  the  place. 

Ruth  leaned  a  moment  over  the  parapet ; 
she  stood  and  looked  down  into  the  deep  dark 
water  that  lapsed  along  below  ;  she  seemed  to 
see  herself  lying  there  forever  sheathed  in  the 
crystal  flow,  looking  up  at  soft  starry  heavens, 
all  trouble  dead  and  done  with.  Not  far  away 


236  AZARIAN. 

a  boat  rose  and  dipped,  peopled  with  ringing 
voices,  while  its  helmsman  bore  a  torch.  In 
travesty  of  all  their  mirth,  some  woman  sang ; 
the  song  floated  over  the  bay  and  reached  her 
ears. 

Lips  that  were  made  to  sigh,  — 

Your  bloom  was  bliss. 
The  rose  fades  from  the  sky, 

From  you  the  kiss. 

Eyes  that  were  made  to  weep, — 

At  length  how  blest 
Soul-satisfying  sleep 

And  dreamless  rest ! 

Heart  that  was  made  to  break,  — 

One  pang,  one  breath,  — 
Your  fluttering  thrill  and  ache 
Drop  into  death  ! 

And  the  helmsman  quenched  his  torch.  Then, 
like  a  strain  of  the  wide  world's  indifference, 
from  another  skiff  that  drifted  down  the  ob- 
scure far  on  the  hither  side  of  the  bay,  an- 


AZARIAN.  237 

other  voice  echoed  in  antiphon,  —  some  noc- 
turn's  careless  lazy  tune,  much  like  the  mo- 
tion of  the  current  that  buoyed  the  singer  so 
languidly,  so  graciously  along. 

Float,  little  boat,  the  way  is  dark  and  wide, 

Float,  little  boat,  along  the  sleepy  tide; 

Vaguely  we  note,  we  hear  the  distant  rote 

Where  the  great  waters  and  the  steep  shores  chide,  — 

Slowly  we  slide,  it  lulls  us  as  we  glide, 

Float,  little  boat. 

Neither  could  hear  the  other,  —  Ruth  heard 
both.  There  was  a  subtle  mockery  in  the 
contrasting  song.  She  delayed  till  they  should 
drop  below  the  piers.  And  she  looked  stead- 
ily ahead  far  away  into  the  low  horizon  that 
drew  over  the  sphere's  side  all  its  heaven  of 
dark  transparence,  so  remote  and  deep,  with 
such  a  lofty  lucid  dark  that  it  seemed  full  of 
slumbering  light.  Even  then,  through  all  the 
madness  that  whirled  about  the  fixed  point  of 
her  purpose,  some  sense  of  the  hoTir's  beauty 


238  AZ  ASIAN. 

crept  into  her  heart,  and  I  think  that  for  an 
instant  her  personal  misery  lifted  over  a  quick 
flash  of  gratitude  for  the  perfect  loveliness  of 
the  world.  How  beautiful  must  be  the  hand 
that  made  its  work  so  fair  !  It  was  but  an 
instant,  —  then  the  pain  shut  down  again. 
Ah,  how  regardlessly  the  earth  pursued  its 
way,  the  river  went  to  meet  the  sea,  the  boats 
slipped  downward,  gently  drawn  and  loitering 
along  the  lure  !  Sweet  eyes  that  through  the 
western  windows  see  every  night  over  the 
broad  shadowy  stream  the  lamps  build  up 
their  aerial  bridge  of  light,  could  not  detect 
this  little  spirit  hovering  to  be  gone,  hidden 
among  all  the  clustering  glooms  and  summon- 
ing the  powers  of  vasty  death  to  do  her  will. 
She  was  all  alone  in  the  world  ;  God  had  for- 
gotten her,  —  that  was  what  Ruth  kept  saying 
to  herself ;  —  a  moment,  and  then  sleep.  As 
she  said  it,  suddenly  she  seemed  to  feel  a  hand 
upon  her  shoulder.  She  turned  hastily  and 


AZARIAN.  239 

looked  up ;  there  was  nothing  but  the  velvet 
violet  heaven  full  of  scattered  starlight,  the 
great  immensity  of  clear  and  bending  space. 
What  wrung  the  scalding  drops  from  her  brain 

and  dashed  them  impetuously  down  her  cheek, 

j 
gazing  still  with  brimmed  and  blurring  eyes  ? 

How  beautiful  the  hand?  Tender  as  beauti- 
ful !  God  had  never  forgotten  her !  He  re- 
membered her,  he  lifted  her,  he  upheld  her ; 
she  was  his  little  child,  he  loved  her !  He 
had  set  her  feet  in  that  path,  —  let  her  cling 
to  the  hand  and  walk  therein  !  This  pain 
was  in  the  destiny  of  her  nature  belike,  evaded 
here  only  to  endure  hereafter,  in  other  worlds, 
sadder  lives,  till  accomplished.  Evade  it, 
escape  his  will,  escape  fate,  —  she  would  not, 
if  it  were  possible  ;  the  old  adoring  worship 
overflowed  her  soul ;  there  might  come  barren 
sighs  of  ineffable  human  longing,  but  through 
all  the  years  that  should  engulf  those  dreary 
instants  henceforth  the  wide  universe  sufficed 


240  AZARIAN. 

her.  Let  her  accept  all  suffering  of  his  be- 
hest, all  result  of  his  laws,  precious  because 
his  choice,  welcome  since  sent  by  him.  Let 
her  live  his  life,  her  face  upturned  to  catch 
his  light,  and  dying  leave  some  handful  of 
his  earth  transmuted  to  heroic  dust.  It  was 
all  she  could  do  for  her  Lord.  And  if  he  did 
more  for  her,  if  he  drew  her  up  higher  and 
higher  and  into  his  heart  through  soaring 
eternities,  let  her  wait,  and,  doing  the  Divine 
will,  become  fit  for  the  Divine  rest.  It  was 
all  in  a  breath,  —  one  of  those  swift  miracles 
that  happen  every  day,  that  sooner  or  later 
come  to  us  all,  and  weld  our  wish  with  the 
Eternal  Will.  But  as  Ruth  restored  her  gaze 
to  the  low  dark  horizon,  how  all  Nature  opened 
its  depths  to  meet  her !  what  sweetness  lurked 
in  the  shadows !  what  brightness  in  the  rays ! 
She  forgot  sorrow,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  very 
heart  were  smiling  within  her.  Her  passion, 
her  selfish  ecstasy  of  pain,  had  passed;  rest 


AZARIAN.  241 

took  possession  of  her,  and  the  warm  still  In- 
dian summer  night  breathed  its  balm  about 
her.  A  little  wind  blew  up  and  ruffled  all  the 
idle  bay  as  the  two  boats  stole  nearer ;  it  re- 

• 

freshed  Ruth  with  great  wafts,  and  soothed 
her  brow  ;  it  caught  the  dust  of  the  thorough- 
fare, and  whirled  it  in  great  clouds  together. 
Suddenly  the  torch  in  the  gay  barge  beyond, 
peopled  with  its  invisible  voices,  flared  into 
being  again,  and  flung  its  restless  light  about, 
tossed  up  to  the  forgetful  glance  a  sidelong 
dart  from  the  chrysolite  shining  on  her  finger, 
lingered  a  moment  on  all  the  cool  dew  that 
lay  beaded  along  the  parapet  flashing  \>ack 
innumerable  twinkles  and  shattered  sparks  of 
color,  then  swept  its  gleam  higher,  and  trem- 
bled over  Ruth  herself  and  on  the  great  cloud 
impending  there  behind  her,  —  and,  suddenly, 
the  slender  boat  on  the  hither  side,  drifting 
from  its  shadow,  was  caught  back  on  a  delay- 
ing oar  while  its  master  hung  upon  the  rapt 
11  p 


242  AZARIAN. 

bright  gaze  of  that  face  above  him.  He  re- 
membered with  the  same  heart-beat  that  old 
dream  of  which  she  had  once  told  him,  and 
it  seemed  to  his  transfixed  fancy  that  the  two 
upbearing  angels  stood  behind  her  with  their 
great  arching  pointed  wings  and  glorious 
faces.  To  shoot  down,  secure  his  boat,  climb 
and  s*eek  the  spot,  was  but  brief  work,  —  yet 
vain.  The  place  was  vacant ;  he  found  noth- 
ing but  the  empty  starlight  and  kind  shelter- 
ing clouds  of  dust  that  perhaps  hid  the  little 
phantom  as  it  flitted  on  and  away. 

Tfie  day  had  been  one  of  the  fond  mistakes 
of  the  year,  —  those  dear  surprises  wheh  all 
June  seems  filtering  through  November,  when 
the  landscape  lies  lapped  in  blue  and  mellow 
haze,  and  resin-breaths  —  sweeter  than  sighs 
from  Sorrento's  orange-groves  —  come  float- 
ing everywhere  tangled  in  the  blissful  air. 
Azarian  had  certainly  intended  to  keep  his 


A  Z  ART  AN.  243 

tardy  promise  to  Ruth  that  noon,  and  then 
he  bethought  himself  that  no  such  delicious 
day  for  boating  would  the  fall  again  afford,  — 
so  he  went  lightly  simmering  up  the  stream 
with  the  tide,  found  some  woods  in  which  to 
belate  himself,  gathered  a  rare  medicinal  root, 
watched  a  little  sleepy  fly,  that  all  the  season 
had  not  coaxed  from  its  cell,  just  break  the 
chrysalis,  fall  on  his  sleeve  to  spread  and  dry 
its  gauzy  wings  and  flutter  along  upon  his 
way,  pleased  to  see  what  kind  of  time  the  tiny 
prodigal  was  having  on  his  first  launch  in  life  ; 
and  when  sunset  burned  among  the  tree-boles, 
found  the  dim  bank  and  drifted  down  again. 
Now,  as  he  rapidly  left  the  bridge,  and  sought 
the  old  region,  the  solitary  square,  with  its 
wildly  flickering  lamp,  I  cannot  say  what 
quick  spasms  of  vague  apprehension  were 
these  that  stung  him  on.  He  reached  Ruth's 
door,  —  it  was  open  ;  the  place  was  dark.  He 
entered,  called  her,  waited,  groped  round  and 


244  AZARIAN. 

found  a  candle.  All  was  as  she  left  it,  —  the 
very  impression  of  her  head  upon  the  cushion, 
the  spot  where  her  breath  had  soiled  the  pane, 
the  fire's  dead  remnants  in  the  grate,  his  little 
Angelico  hanging  before  her  painting-desk,  on 
her  painting-desk  the  amaranth  half  sketched, 
and  then  those  idle  words.  He  bent  and  read 
them  :  "  Till  you  need  me,  Azarian,  —  till  you 
need  me."  Azarian  gave  one  long  look  about 
the  room,  and  set  down  the  candle,  stood  be- 
fore it  till,  burning  to  the  socket,  it  dipped 
and  gasped  for  life  and  fell  and  left  the  place 
iii  blackness.  Then  he  strode  out,  and  locked 
the  door  behind  him. 

Meanwhile,  if  auy  watched  the  little  vagrant 
woman  wending  under  the  shadow  down  the 
lonely  windy  way,  none  molested  her.  The 
slight  form  slid  along  the  streets  like  a  shadow 
itself.  Weary,  it  waited  a  moment,  leaning 
upon  the  stone  pillar  of  a  church.  Down 


AZARIAN.  245 

through  the  portals  came  the  heavenly  song 
from  the  choir,  that  terzetto  where  the  first 
voice  floats  forward  on  the  great  stream  of 
the  second,  and  underneath  all  the  third  tolls 
like  a  bell  across  a  tranquil  water,  full  of  Sab- 
bath rest,  —  Lift  thine  eyes.  Then,  when  the 
beautiful  silence  had  closed  over  it,  she  went 
on.  Up  and  down  long  windy  ways,  looking 
only  at  her  two  clasped  hands  and  on  the  sin- 
gle jewel  there  into  which  the  light  of  all  the 
lamps  seemed  to  stoop  and  sparkle  as  she 
went. 

At  length  she  paused  beside  another  door 
than  that  through  which  the  radiant  crowd 
were  pouring,  and  waited  till  one  should  issue 
alone.  The  boy  came  tumbling  down  with 
his  basket,  —  then  a  different  form  appeared, 
a  firm  foot  stepped  out,  a  white  bare  hand 
wrapped  the  cloak  together  and  let  it  fall 
again  in  a  moment's  pause,  —  the  soft  breeze 
soothed  so  after  all  that  reeking  air,  the  stars 


246  AZARIAN. 

were  so  brilliant  with  heaven's  own  lustre 
after  the  glaring  footlights,  the  great  vault  was 
so  clear,  so  pure  the  cool  night-fragrance,  so 
grateful  the  silence.  The  lofty  glance  fell 
downward  then,  —  what  little  beggar  was  this 
slipping  a  hand  in  hers  ?  Ruth  did  not  look 
up. 

"  Charrnian,"  she  faltered,  "  I  have  come  —  " 

The   warm  hand   closed   over  the   slender 

thing  within  it  as  if  they  were  cut  from  one 

marble,  and,  still  fast  held,  without  a  word, 

the  two  went  on  together. 


Is  it,  when  all  is  said,  the  lover  or  the  love 
that  one  requires  ?  Think  of  Goethe,  and  say 
the  love.  Think  of  any  woman,  and  answer 
that  it  is  the  pulsating  personality  of  the  lov- 
er. But  falling  torn  and  bleeding,  the  arms 
of  a  true  and  strong  affection,  be  it  whose  it 


AZARIAX.  247 

may,  can  support  one  till  health  of  the  heart 
returns.      It  is  said,  —  L'amour  est  &  la  por- 

*> 

te*e  de  tout  le  monde  :  la  seule  £preuve  d'un 
co3ur  d'dlite  est  1'amitie. 

Perhaps  it  did  not  take  the  whole  of  those 
three  foreign  years  for  Charmian's  embracing 
spirit  to  give  tone  and  vigor  to  Ruth  once 
more,  to  place  her  upon  a  fresh  centre  whence 
she  could  look  with  clearer  eyes,  to  let  her 
find  herself  full  of  such  purified  strength  as 
that  with  which,  after  its  igneous  struggle,  the 
diamond  drops  away  from  its  char.  Before 
the  second  year  had  expired,  the  sudden  death 
of  Madame  Saratov  left  two  orphans  upon 
the  world.  Ruth  saw  a  path  before  her  with 
tears  of  thankfulness ;  she  made  a  swallow's 
flight  across  the  Atlantic,  and  brought  them 
both  back  to  Charmian's  hearth  and  hers,  and 
took  them  into  a  heart  wide  enough  to  be  a 
mother's.  The  boys  stood  a  shield  between 
her  and  the  past ;  gentle  maternal  duties  ab- 


248  AZARIAN. 

sorbed  her  thought  and  her  love ;  it  needed 
constant  care  to  overcome  the  vagrant  life 
they  lived  and  give  it  the  wholesomeness  of 
home ;  they  began  to  interknit  with  closest 
fibres;  she  poured  all  the  beautiful  accumu- 
lations of  her  being  into  the  young  mould 
of  theirs,  and  spared  them  none  of  the  al- 
chemized treasure  of  her  experience.  The 
brothers  held  Charmian  in  a  sacred  awe,  and 
addressed  her  by  the  reverential  surname  ; 
but  the  other  one  they  worshipped  and  ca- 
ressed, and  called  her  always  Ruth.  Then 
all  returned  once  more  to  the  shores  where 
first  they  had  met  one  another,  and,  heart  free 
and  hand  free  in  the  service  of  unselfish  love, 
Ruth  soared  on  her  art  with  wings  she  had 
not  found  before.  She  lived  the  life  she  cov- 
eted, she  had  her  work,  she  had  her  bliss, 
these  were  her  children. 

Did  one  who,  with  a  start,  paused  outside 
as  he  went  down  the  hill  in  the  wintry,  twi- 


AZARIAN.  249 

light,  first  glancing,  then  gazing,  into  the 
opposite  windows  of  a  drawing-room  on  the 
ground-floor,  where  the  lights  were  lit  and 
shutters  still  thoughtlessly  unclosed,  divine 
anything  of  this  ?  Was  that  she,  sitting  in 
the  ruby  glow  of  the  fire,  his  Ruth,  —  Ruth, 
who  three  years  ago  had  gone  forth  into  the 
night  and  left  him  ?  Ruth  with  such  sunny 
light  in  her  brown  eyes,  such  soft  rose-bloom 
on  her  cheek,  such  happy  clinging  smiles 
about  the  mouth  he  used  to  kiss  ?  Ruth ! 
Was  it  Paul  Saratov  too,  the  youth  that  stood 
with  the  mien  of  a  young  Norse  hero,  leaning 
on  the  back  of  her  tall  'chair,  and  looking 
down  with  her  at  what  the  dark-eyed  Ivan, 
seated  at  her  feet  on  the  other  side,  held  up 
for  her  to  see  ?  These  boys  —  had  she  set 
them  in  his  empty  shrine  ?  Ah  no,  that 
chamber  was  sealed,  and  she  was  at  peace. 
Was  it  Ruth  with  a  mother's  joys  grafted 
upon  her  life  ?  Well,  —  grafted  ?  false  then. 


250  AZARIAN. 

No,  not  so ;  doubtless  the  stem  loved  best 
the  fostering  of  the  sunlight  deep  in  its  own 
heart,  rejoiced  most  in  the  blossom  of  its  own 
veins,  but  yet  with  the  borrowed  bud  it  bore 
good  fruit.  There  was  a  deep  and  perfect 
serenity  of  gladness  in  that  meeting  of  the 
three  warm  trusting  glances  before  him  there 
in  the  pleasant  room,  glances  from  faces  full 
of  love  and  peace. 

As  he  gazed  his  bitter  gaze,  a  stir  of 
figures  disturbed  the  air ;  those  happy  sun- 
shiny brown  eyes  were  lifted  and  looking 
quietly  at  him.  The  night  without,  the  light 
within,  the  pane  between,  made  him  viewless. 
She  looked  at  him,  and  he  was  of  less  sub- 
stance than  any  flitting  film  of  the  dark- 
ness. Then  her  fingers  were  stroking  back 
Ivan's  hair,  and  she  was  smiling  up  at  Paul. 
Guests  took  their  departure,  a  queenly  woman 
with  her  purples  gleaming  beneath  the  golden 
drip  of  the  chandeliers  swept  forward  into  his 


AZARIAN.  251 

range,  put  up  a  jewelled  hand  and  dropped 
the  shade. 

"  The  curtain  falls,"  said  Azarian,  striding 
gloomily  on  his  way  alone,  "  the  play  is  played* 
out." 


THE   END. 


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12  List  of  Works  Published  by 

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$  1.00. 


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14  List  of  Works  Published  by 

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MESSRS.  TICKNOR  AND  FIELDS  are  publishing  a  new 
edition  of  the  writings  of  popular  Poets,  called  the  Cabinet 
Edition.  It  is  handsomely  printed  on  laid  tinted  paper,  and 
elegantly  bound  in  velluua  cloth  with  gilt  top.  The  following 
are  now  published  :  — 

Longfellow's  Poems.     2  vols.     $  3.50. 
Tennyson's  Poems.     2  vols.     $  8.50. 
Whittier's  Poems.     2  vols.     $  3.50. 
Holmes' s  Poems.     1vol.     $1.75. 

The  following  will  shortly  be  issued  :  — 

Saxe's  Poems.     1  vol.     $  1.75. 
LoweWs  Poems.     2  vols.     $  3.50. 
Longfellow's  Prose  Works.     2  vols.     S  3.50. 
Adelaide  Procter's  Poems.     1vol.     $1.75. 


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